Fair Game
by Phoxace
Summary: Harry Potter is dead. Hogwarts has changed. The students, new and old, are preparing to take a final stance against the Dark Lord. This time, however, their leader will come from the home of their enemy. OC based
1. The American

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling (characters, magical creatures, ect). HOWEVER the concept and actual writing of this story as well as the non-canon characters do belong to me. Thank you.**

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Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Inhale. Hold it. Exhale.

Not only was I determined to defile this place before I left I was determined to enjoy it. The smell would be imbedded between the folds of every fabric in this room by the time I was done with it. Cross legged on the rickety mattress with a cigarette between my teeth I slowly filled my lungs with smoke, enjoying the scorching sensation as it seared my pipes, and bringing it up again just as steadily. The stench clung to everything. The tacky curtains, the scarcely washed pillow cases, the molding carpets.

Inhale. Hold it. Exhale. Inhale. Hold it. Exhale.

A glance at the clock left of the door told me that I'd wasted enough time on this small display of rebellion. I flicked the butt onto the center of the carpet, where it singed the threads it touched, before I rose from the bed, pinning my right foot upon the butt and spreading the black spot on the burgundy wool like a parasite. With the next stride my hand clasped the handle that topped my suitcase. One more stride took me to the door. As I made my way down the hall I bid farewell to the empty box of smokes as I discarded it on the floor.

I'd been a smoker for years. When the LCME was in Manhattan a group of us would meet up behind a nearby Starbucks for a smoke and a pint of whatever booze we could loot. Some of the other kids were from LCME as well. But not anymore.

It had been five years since the UK was plagued with another war. Our teachers assured us that everything would be fine. The attempted revolution hadn't reached the States the last time. They insisted that the British MoM could handle everything.

They couldn't be more wrong.

Even in America the papers were alive with the rush of the events across the pond, though they, too, kept pretending we were safe. Two years after his return from the dead, the man behind the purity movement, Voldemort, whose name is forbidden from speech, defeated the only person he was said to have feared, Albus Dumbledore. Britain was practically under his thumb, but the rebels still held hope. The face of that hope was a scrawny, reckless boy named Harry Potter, rumored to be on the run in search of his enemy's weakness. Voldemort became obsessed with the destruction of this one boy. And, in a dramatic final battle, on the grounds of the world renowned Hogwarts School, he did it. He killed the boy and, with him, the hope of the rebels. Both sides had faced immense casualties. Even though the populous of the opposition was hardly smaller than that of their oppressors they were forced into hiding. The death of their hero crushed their spirits, rendering them pathetically useless.

And still it was said the purity movement would never reach us. At this point it wasn't a naïve assumption. It was a desperate hope. Americans aren't only quite openly accepting of muggles, there's more muggle blood loose in the system than any given country in Europe. And the purists knew it.

After they claimed total control over the wizards of the United Kingdom, and even held much of the muggle population at bay with threats they didn't understand, they remembered our poor reputation over here in the States. Death Eaters crossed our borders to recruit local followers and demand the Ministry surrender. Knowing that so few of us were pureblood, and would therefore not be spared, the government tried to refuse. They were quick to change their minds after the Death Eaters burned the old LCME building.

The school had been underground in Manhattan. Lots of muggles around to get lapped up in the flames. I'd skipped that morning's classes to share a paper bag clad bottle of vodka with some homeless drug-addicted muggles and was unharmed. Losing my school books wasn't much a tragedy for me. Neither was losing some monstrous teachers. After the blast, and the MoM's instant surrender, survivors were picked from the rubble and interrogated. The ones they liked went for medical treatment. The ones they didn't were left to die. Their second act was to set up a new government, that hired new staff to replace the charred blobs that used to be called educators and Layton Center for Magical Education was moved to a more 'appropriate' location. Secluded, far from the prying eyes of muggles. As opposed to waking up in our own beds, putting on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and taking public transit, magic or otherwise, to an underground building in time for classes we were now require to stay in stuffy dorms and wear tacky uniforms that cover every piece of skin from the soles of our feet to the bases of our necks.

Mind you this never actually affects me or anyone I knew. None of my smoking buddies were spared, anyway. Not only did they break the mould the Death Eaters tried to shove them in, they were too stupid to pretend otherwise. They weren't particularly fond of me either. I wasn't surprised. Not many people are. But once they got beyond being offended by my cold attitude and my blatant honesty about missing classes to get illegally drunk they started feeling sympathy for me. It was a sympathy that I didn't enjoy, but it was one I could use. My tone as I spoke of my parents' murder and how I was force from my home in Britain at a young age to live with a muggle drunkard was passive, but all they could hear was the heart wrenching story of a poor little girl victimized by the barbarism that they aimed to destroy. I let them see me this way. When they told me that they were graciously sending me home I wasn't all that surprised. If I was trying to rule the wizarding world I would want as many kids going to school where I could keep an eye on them too. My British heritage, which I don't even have any connections with (I've never even been able to fake the accent), validates the transfer.

They offered to confiscate my things from the muggle who housed me, but I insisted that the only possession I needed, my wand, was already with me. I decided that omitting the fact that the muggle who housed me was dead, too, would be in my best interest. Still feeling far too much pity for my situation they did provide me with new 'proper' clothes. After seeing what had been packed for me, I snuck back to my apartment snatched back enough of my old 'real' clothes to keep me from going crazy with discomfort.

At first glance even the brightest minds would deny that the new LCME building was actually new. The thing was a mess. Lazily thrown together in after the abolishment of our old building my temporary summer home was already falling down. The thing reminded me of one of the muggle buildings I passed on my way to school in the mornings. A church, it was called. A place where muggles worshipped a man said to have performed miracles. Frankly, I could have walked into any one of those buildings and performed what would pass as a miracle for them, then they'd be worshipping me, but that would have been counterproductive in my mission to intimidate the whole world into leaving me alone.

But I didn't even have to pull such a prank to waver this faith. It did quite well on its own. As people stopped caring they stopped attending church sessions, stopped donating to the cause, and some of the poorer buildings started to fall apart. Rotting wood, chipped paint, a layer of dust no one can be bother to clean… yes, this describes the new LCME quite well. All but the lack of a large wooden "T" on the tilting tower likens the building before me to the one I'd seen in the city.

The location they chose was lame. A woodland in Hamilton County. So unused there's still a layer of dead brown leaves on the ground contrasting the flourishing green ones overhead. They seem so determined to keep us cut off from the muggle world that the man who'd come to collect me didn't even bother kicking the leaves aside to form any sort of structured path.

"How was your summer, Ms. Chisholm?" he said with a smile that was way too kind, indicating he's heard my sob story. Between the prominent brow, chin, and cheekbones, the smile only serves to make him look hideous rather than comforting.

"Uneventful," I answer honestly, without looking at him. I wasn't lying to be rude, either. The only excitement was when I played a makeshift game of Quodpot, which quickly grew boring without competitors. Add that to the fact that their request for me not to use magic kept me from jinxing crab apples into exploding like Quods and the game becomes completely pointless. After this I set to smoking the last of the cigarettes I salvaged from my old apartment, knowing that if I was seen with a muggle object when the Death Eaters arrived I'd be damned. Mind you I didn't care so much if they found the box and butts lying around. I figured they'd be stupid enough to assume it was some punk muggles. Gives them something to be angry about.

Eventually the man introduced himself as Omande Travers, a recently appointed follower of Voldemort (whom he refers to as "The Dark Lord", insisting I do the same) native to Wales who has yet to be promoted to the status of Death Eater. I replied to all of this with a careless "Cool."

My silence up till then combine with my disinterest in his introduction is a code he deciphers as "Shut up and don't talk to me," and obeyed well. We march on in silence until what we both knew to be the end of the protective spells' effective area.

At this point he took my arm in his gloved hand, an action that appealed to me about as much as feasting on dirty earthworms, and we disapparated.

Being of age and having already taken the apparition test I could have gone on my own. I kept myself from dwelling on this as Omande guided me through the grand marble Lobby of the Ministry of Magic towards the elevators. I found myself wondering if government buildings in Britain have elevators, wondering if their presence is the reason why it seems everyone in America is so fat, but restrained from posing the question.

I'd been in the MoM once before, for legal issues. This time we were on our way to the department of transportation. The elevator shifted and rose and turned until at last the doors were opened. A bored looking young woman behind a desk immediately outside the elevator doors asked to be allowed to examine our wands. As she identified them I listened to the hum behind me. I'd never been in this department before but I was still able to confirm a prominent difference that I'd noticed the whole trip up here: each word was said in a British accent. Did they just go and have the whole country arrested? From what I heard nearly no one that had gone to LCME, student or staff, was being permitted to return. And each official in this room sounded like they were from the UK. Could they really have wiped out so many of us in just a few weeks?

The woman returned our wands to Omande, who returned mine to me. I started to walk down the row of offices when Omande stopped me. Perplexing. I remembered only having to present me wand as identification before entering the justice department. Is protocol different in transit? Or is this an 'improvement' by the Death Eaters? It turned out to be the latter. Once I'd returned to the desk its occupant was stamping a booklet of paper. This Omande passed onto me as well.

"Identification," he said. "You can't just trust a person by the wand they wave anymore."

As I followed Omande's footsteps through the maze of offices I examined the booklet. The front page bore the photograph my initial escort to the LCME building had insisted on taking. Just my shoulders up, unmoving, staring at myself. Accompanying the photo was all the information anyone would ever need to identify me:

_Name: Chisholm, Audrey Victoria_

_ Name of birth father: Chisholm, Cliff Henry_

_ Name of birth mother: Allsopp, Margaret Merie_

_ Blood status: Pureblood_

_Sex: Female_

_Date of birth: January 3, 1982_

_Place of birth: Bawtry, England_

_Current residence: New York City, United States of America_

… and so on. I was slightly confused. I thought you and your family had to go through a series of severe testing and interrogation before pureblood status was granted. I was pretty sure why I was exempt from the process, though.

"We didn't want to stir up any bad memories about your family," Omande confirmed when I posed the inquiry. I nodded and returned my attention to the next page.

It included a condensed form of my identification, this time with 'pureblood' in bold red letters directly below my name. The lower half of the sheet describes my intentions.

_Place of departure: New York City, United States of America_

_ Destination: London, England_

_ Method of transport: Portkey_

_ Time of Departure: 11:33 pm_

_ Time of arrival: 11:34 pm_

_Intention: Educational transfer from Layton Center for Magical Education to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Reason for travel: Improved quality of education_

The last remark made me snicker a bit. I wasn't seeking to improve my quality of education. They wanted to keep me close and loyal to Voldemort. Oh, well. England would probably have a better education, anyway. That's a bonus.

Most of the text thereafter was obscured by, but still legible under, a large red stamp that read _APPROVED. _It was hard not to question whether or not you had to have such personal information approved of to travel, having never travelled outside New York State before. Well, not since I'd developed a memory span of over five minutes.

Omande directed me into a series of offices labelled _Intercontinental_ and continued along to a cubicle labelled _Portkeys_. I began wondering whether or not anything was this organized before the Death Eaters arrive, then proceed to think that I ought to have paid better attention to my surrounds because I seem to be questioning what the Death Eaters have and haven't changed far too often for someone whose supposedly lived here nearly her whole life.

"Ever travelled by Portkey before?" Omande asked expectantly, holding out the lovely goblet with a silver foot and stand and crystal top. He'd just received this from an older looking person in charge of moderating Portkey usage.

"Not that I can remember."

Omande looks solemn. "Sorry, I forgot you'd been so young."

I shrugged, not really caring.

The elderly man with a wispy white beard and receding hair line stood up and explained the basics of Portkey travel in, no surprise, a British accent. Hold tight, don't let go until reach your destination, and focus your eyes on the Portkey so you don't become nauseous with the spinning, let your escort hold your suitcase since he has experience and is less likely to drop it. I wanted to laugh at this last point, but I nod anyway, letting them wonder why the edges of my lips were curling. After an extensive description of the grip he recommended for holding the goblet key I got direly bored with his rambling. I was quite thankful when he pulled out his brass pocket watch and looked shocked at how he'd let the time slide. "11:32! Goodness, I must have been ranting!" _You just noticed?_ "Alright, then, Mr. Travers, Ms. Chisholm, if you'd position yourselves in the hall and take hold of the Portkey. Oh, Ms. Chisholm, please hand your suitcase to Mr. Tra—"

_Whoosh_. With my hand still on my own suitcase we were off. A minute later I was falling through streaks of black and gold. I landed hard on my back and my suitcase flew open on impact, but I was on my knees balling up my clothes and returning them to the case before anyone could offer assistance. Quodpot players always know how to get back up after a fall. Omande insisted on taking my luggage after that, but I turned him down with a threatening glare. After snapping the bag back to my side I stood up straight and took in my surroundings. The black and gold streaks were caused by the decorative gold borders to the fireplaces and doors fusing with the polished black wall. Directly in front of me was a huge statue depicting muggles suffering to hold up the stone wizards that stood on their shoulders. Fitting. Very fitting for such a movement.

I didn't have much time to observe, as Omande and I were swept away with the tide of people marching to work. We were herded into the elevator (called a 'lift' here) and Omande asked if someone could hit the button for the Department for Magical Education floor once he realized he'd been pinned out of range of the controls. I had to hold my breath in the lift, not because there was any sort of stench, but because the crowdedness was off-putting. NYC may be huge, population wise, but you can always count on finding a space to yourself. Being in such a congested space made me feel trapped. I took a huge breath of relief at being freed from the confines.

When we reached another office on this floor they sent our transportation paper down to the proper department to be screened while we filled out forms and signed names for my transfer of schools. I made a mental note not to skip classes again. Not burning was a huge mistake in the avoiding-painfully-slow-and-annoyingly-legal-school-transfers department. Our travel papers came back approved. I figured they'd approve anyone with the big red P-word on their identification form. And finally my transfer was complete and I was going to get to see my new home, or prison, whatever the case may be.

After telling them I was a fair flyer I was granted a broom to amuse myself at the new LCME building while I waited to be transferred. As you already know, this was ineffective, but I was allowed to keep the broom, which allowed me to fly with Omande to Hogwarts, as opposed to taking the Floo Powder network. I'd never taken the Floo network, but the idea of catching yourself on fire sounded precarious. Though the flight ended up being precarious, too. Being in New York meant you only flew on the Quodpot field. Flying from London's Ministry of Magic to Hogwarts required covering a lot more ground. It was at least eight thirty in the evening by the time we landed outside the gate.

The castle was huge and grand, like something a king would live. But it was ominous. Cloaked dementors glided round the perimeter of the grounds. When they sensed our presence they began gravitating in our direction. Then they all of a sudden backed off as we landed.

Coming down the path was man draped in black cloaks carrying a lantern. He was not fat, but he was still quite large and had tiny eyes set deep into his pig-like face. The gate before us released its numerous physical and magical seals as he approach and swung open before him. He nodded curtly to Omande. "Travers," he greeted.

"Carrow." Omande returned the nod.

"Thank you. You may return to head quarters to await a new assignment." Omande nodded obediently. He extended his hand to me as a gesture of farewell. Still repulsed by our contact during apparition I squeezed the tips of his fingers without breaking eye contact with the new man before me. Obviously this discouraged Omande from prolonging his farewell, which didn't bother me in the least. My attention had permanently left him and wasn't going back. Not with the man in front of me, Carrow, he was called, was staring so intently at me.

We continued staring one another down for moments after we heard Omande depart. Then a smile curled on Carrow's lips, and I kept my face unchangingly cold. "Audrey Chisholm," the way he said it was strangely disturbing, "my name is Professor Amycus Carrow. I'll be teaching you Dark Arts here at Hogwarts. Now follow me, the Headmaster has been anticipating your arrival."

The Headmaster looked incapable of anticipating anything. We'd climbed an ornate series of stair and entered by a final hidden set behind the statue of an eagle to get to the Headmaster's office. Everything about this school was fancier than LCME. I concluded Brits just have higher standards for these sorts of things.

The Headmaster himself didn't seem to fit in with his decorative surroundings. Professor Severus Snape wore very plain black robes that billowed behind him at the slightest motion and two sheets of greasy black hair framing his face, particularly his big hooked nose. When he handed me a tattered old hat I was tempted to tell him I wasn't touching anything he'd touched until he took a well deserved bath. Maybe even three.

"You will be sorted before the start of term, Ms. Chisholm, and take time to adjust to the new school before the start of term. You will take a preliminary lesson from each of your future teachers to decide—"

"And what's the hat got to do with this crap?" I interrupted. This was the first time I'd spoken in a while and I was starting to notice how prominently American I sounded.

Snape looked and spoke in a tone that suggested he was unaffected by interruption, but his choice in words suggested otherwise. "If you plan on attending a new school, miss, it might be useful to understand some of their more basic customs—"

"So, hat fits in because…?" I persisted. Snape still didn't look angry. I decided that it was now my mission in the coming school year to see him display emotions.

"That is the Sorting Hat," he said plainly, as though that explained everything. After a moment of waiting for my bewilderment to fade he continued. "Each student is placed in a house base on their personality. Each house was installed by one of each of the four founders; Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. That magical hat will decide where you belong. Usually first years are sorted in a ceremony but we've decided to spare you the embarrassment. Now, if you will take a seat." He motioned towards a stool that sat in the middle of the room.

I paced over and sat down facing my audience; Snape, Amycus Carrow, a woman I later learned to be his sister and a scarred fox faced man. I stared each of them down for a moment with the hat in my lap. Then, with my eyes locked on Snape, I flipped it up onto my head.

My vision became unfocused, though the hat didn't cause this directly. The sudden presence of its voice demanded my attention, and I stared into the distance at something I couldn't see so that I didn't miss a word.

"You have secrets, girl," the hat began, "dangerous secrets indeed."

The lack of reaction from the onlookers gave me the feeling this conversation might have been private. Either that or the teachers were just used to seeing talking hats. Still, I tried focussing my thoughts rather than speaking aloud at first. It worked. "Only dangerous for the one who tries to spill them on me," I threatened.

"Fierce." I think what happened next was a chuckle from the hat. It's unnerving to hear someone else laughing in your head. "I suppose I ought to explain a bit about the houses before a sort you?"

"Whatever."

"Alright then. Gryffindor is the house of the lion, founded by Godric Gry—"

"Wanna keep it quick?" I interrupted.

"Fine," said the hat, with a hint of irritation. He decided to just tell me the kinds of people who end up in each house. Gryffindors are brave and chivalrous. Hufflepuffs are loyal and just. Ravenclaws are witty and creative. Slytherins are resourceful and ambitious.

"Hey, Hat," I thought. I guess he's not used to being addressed in such a manner because his response resembled "Hmm?" more than actual words. "When Snape spoke of the houses he seemed to like Slytherin, and hate for Gryffindor. You speak of them the other way around. Are you two…?"

"Prejudice?" It's the hat's turn to interrupt. "Yes. We all are."

"That's pretty honest."

"I've no need to lie. It was at the hands of Slytherins that our old world fell. Many people hold see them with contempt."

"And why would they dislike the other houses?"

"I have my suspicions. But they are my own. You will have to decide for yourself about what happens here. Now, back to you. I see you are deceptive. You are hard and determined, and have all the makings of a leader…"

"Damn, I hate people."

"… and you go after the things you want. Therefore," the hat ignores my comment, "my initial thought is Slytherin, but…"

"But what?"

"You'll be in danger in Slytherin. Your ferocity and… All things considered, you'd be safest in Ravenclaw. You're smart enough and they're still held in high regard with the staff…"

I considered all this for a moment. I considered all the houses. I thought about who I've been in my life, where I'm going, my past.

"Put me where I belong."

Once again, the hat chuckles, but this time I chuckle with him. Not in my head, but aloud.

"This'll be fun to see," said the hat. "Very well, girl, and may I never be damned with being your enemy, Audrey Chisholm of—"

"—SLYTHERIN!"


	2. The Hufflepuff

How long does it take for a person to starve to death?

It's pathetic to ask yourself these sorts of questions, yeah, but I did it anyway.

The dining room, called the Great Hall, was an enormous stone room with five tables; four long tables for students in each of the four houses, and one smaller table at the head of the room for the staff. One could have considered it quite beautiful, if only you could have subtracted the crowd of people occupying it. I was already falling off the end of the bench that ran along far side of the Slytherin table, and the first years hadn't even arrived yet. I couldn't recall ever being in a room with so many other people. Usually I cleared out before the crowds were upon me at LCME.

Thankfully, yet still disturbingly, I didn't have to shrug my shoulders over my ears to shield myself from shrieking and chatter. One would expect that a room full of friends reuniting after a long summer away from one another would be alive with conversation. But the only chatter came from my left, further up the Slytherin table. Still, even their voices were hushed and full of a reservation that was almost fear.

When I let my eyes stray from the corner of the table I saw that everyone sat as still as they could, as if the slightest twitch of an eye would justify their demise. Some of them simply sat staring straight ahead, expressions blank. Farthest from me was the table where student wore robes lined with scarlet, a color that matched the scars running down their faces and hands almost perfectly.

It was no mystery that many of the kids here had been beaten. Purple and blue bruises could even be seen among the Slytherins. But it looked like the red kids were being blatantly torture. Recalling the loathsome voice Professor Snape had used to name his least favorite house at my sorting I conclude this must be Gryffindor.

One boy, with a crooked broken nose and deep gash on his left cheek caught my eye. No sooner did he shoot me a look of hatred was he whipped in the back by a spell from Alecto Carrow. The boy immediately sat up straight and stared forward with an empty expression that hid the pain swelling up from behind his eyes. The Muggle Studies teacher marched up the far side of the Gryffindor table whipping in the back kids who were either slouching or just looked too happy.

She didn't have to come down the other sides of the tables. Everyone took the hint and sat up straight.

The heavy wooden doors creaked loudly as they swung open on their ancient hinges. The new students marched in to a steady beat, lifting and planting their feet as one. Some of the faces, not daring to look from their feet at what lay ahead, were already broken. Where do you think they ended up?

Near the end of the long lines was a young boy who grabbed my attention. His only injury was a black bruise around one of his eyes, but it was large and looked serious. But this wasn't what drew me to him, nor was it his ragged blonde hair, soft-looking skin, or the big childish eyes. It was his lips. It took a lot of hard staring to notice, but his lips were curled at the ends. He was smiling. It was slight, but, still, he was smiling.

The Sorting started with Snape's speech about the history of the school and its founders. He spoke of how the noble founder of my house, Salazar Slytherin, was banished and shunned by his colleagues. Since then the houses have carried on the tradition, locking the Slytherins in the dungeons, condemning them to the expectation of becoming evil, and generally neglecting them from the proceedings of the castle. In light of Slytherin house's latest glory Snape claimed that the other houses have seen the light of the brothers and sisters they once hated and now hold them in the high regard they deserved.

You must wonder how much of his speech was biased.

The Sorting Hat began his evening on the head of a girl called Imelda Abraham, who went to Ravenclaw. No one clapped, or cheered, or welcomed the new comer. The only sign that anything had changed was the extra body at the Ravenclaw table. Slytherin's first gain was Roderick Blackwood. This received nods and smiles of approval from some of the staff. The students remained unmoved.

Lucky for Bernard Cummins that Roderick was sorted that way, otherwise there may have been even more of an uproar when the Sorting Hat called out "GRYFFINDOR!"

Teachers snarled. Slytherins booed. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws looked on as though watching an animal going to the slaughter. The Gryffindors themselves smiled discretely and tried to look as welcoming as they could. One of the older Gryffindors even rose to give Bernard a welcoming hug. This resulted in the casting of a spell that slash both of their cheeks.

There were fewer first years standing before the Hat every moment, and still the blonde with the bruise remained. Betsy Quiggs became a Hufflepuff. Nathaniel and Theodore Raine, twin brothers, were respectively split between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Hildred Salomon and Kellie Sempers both became Ravenclaws. And then…

"Tyrell, Hector."

There was still a smile pulling at his lips when he turned to the audience. The hat covered his big childish eyes, falling much farther down his head than it had mine. Sprigs of blonde hair jutted out this way and that. And still there were hints of humble joy playing at his face.

There was some sort of emotion babbling up inside me as I watched him sitting up there in silence. But what could it have been? Fear? Surely not. How could one feel fear for someone they'd only just seen? And yet there it was. I was afraid.

Good thing Hector was on that stool for a while or I might not of had time to sort through all the things I was feeling. I was afraid. Afraid that his smile was a display of rebellion, of bravery, and that he may be placed in Gryffindor, where he'd be tortured and beaten by the teachers. I silently willed the sorting hat to send him my way, where he'd be safe, where I could protect him. Something inside me said that there was no way someone like him would be placed with people like us but I hoped I my first impression about him was wrong.

I'd only just realized that I was beginning to rise out of my seat and had to remind myself that I don't care when the Sorting Hat called out:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

He placed the Hat gently on the stool and walked to the Hufflepuff table with a subtle spring in his step. Hufflepuffs. They weren't treated as badly as the Gryffindors, but it still wasn't ideal. Ideal? Ideal for what? Once again I recalled that I didn't care.

The deadness of the room worked to my advantage. No one notice my sudden excitement and I returned to disinterest without question.

By the end of the evening the Slytherin table had expanded by eleven; Roderick Blackwood, Jill Daughtery, Monica Eustis, Paisley Gordon, Conway Hepburn, Charisse Horsfall, Derrick Knaggs, Royce Lawry, Darcey Lund, Nathaniel Raine, and Wilrid Wyght. The extra bodies forced me to slide farther and farther off the bench to hold the integrity of my comfort zone. One leg swung out to my right, hanging out from under the end of our table to balance myself on the end of the bench.

The food here was extravagant. While I went there LCME wasn't a boarding school. They didn't have to cater to us, or what they did serve was served at a price. Here the food was laid out in front of you with only a mouthful of peas standing between you and your next serving of turkey. The idea of starving myself suddenly became far less appealing, though I still wasn't looking forward to coming down to this crowded room for all my meals. Well, I suppose that wasn't that _much_ of a price for a full stomach.

The extravagancy, however, seemed confined to the Slytherin table. A quick glance up and down the other tables told me they weren't treated quite as well. Portions became smaller and smaller and display more and more careless as your gaze approached the Gryffindors, where I was only then noticing how skinny they all were.

For all I was worth I tried to keep my eyes from lingering over the Hufflepuff table. But it never worked. Raving criticisms crossed my mind about how they looked or how they were fed. The Gryffindors obviously deserved my pity far more than anyone else in the room, but I was so preoccupied with Hufflepuff. The reason for this was filed away at the back of my mind, despite how hard I tried to deny it. Until it looked straight into my eyes.

At first I was appalled that I'd missed it. How could I have been observing them for like this without noticing him? The answer evaded me, but soon I didn't care.

For a while we just stared at each other, then he dipped his head to start on a small serving of cold potatoes. For a moment I wanted to march over to him and slam down the bowl of steaming buttery mash from our table. The thought mixed with my confusion at his initial look and my pity for his state stained my face with a look that contrasted my normal empty glare quite comically. I only know this because the discrete smile that toyed with the boy's lips suddenly turned into a wide grin, verging on laughter.

Why this pleased me so much I didn't know, but before I knew it I was grinning back with a seed of satisfaction.

He was hanging off the end of his bench almost as much as I was, though he didn't look quite so spiteful about it. In fact he made falling off the edge of a wooden plank look rather comfortable. Of course our smiles stood out in the dead air of the Great Hall, but everyone was so preoccupied with looking miserable that they were oblivious to it. After getting over that initial shock of noticing each other our eye contact became much more casual. We took breaks of several minutes to lean over the table and shovel food into our mouths or to look around at the others, who didn't seem to share our curiosity.

Being from away I was naturally very curious about the mannerism of my new fellows. What might have been even more intriguing was the fact that Hector Tyrell seemed as curious as I was. In normal circumstances this would be expected. It's his first year at a new school far from home; he should be looking around eagerly. What made it stand out was the fact he and I were the only ones doing this. Everyone else, even the other first years, was far too absorbed in their meals to risk glances at the spectacle that was Hogwarts. Fear smothered their interest. Even the teachers at the head table seemed not to notice what was going on around them. Only the teachers making rounds between the students' tables, punishing them for taking more than their share and other serious crimes, were even minutely attentive. It should come as no surprise that these guards were not evenly distributed. We had to feign disinterest in one another because someone was passing him more often than it was because someone was passing me.

Main course was almost over and dessert was about to appear when I notice another of Hector's notable features. When he sat up straight, most often when one of the threatening teachers passed him by, his thick hair shifted to expose his forehead upon which there was a faintly red mark. Intrigued, I caught his eye, brushing my side bangs out of the way and drawing an invisible line over my forehead. He pointed at the mark and I nodded. Then he nodded in response.

It wasn't hard to go back to looking peeved as the cloaked teacher passed between us. I was disappointed in the way Hector had responded. Once I was sure that we were back to being completely ignored I repeated the gesture, this time with an exaggerated look of confusion.

He seemed to understand, and passive motioned to Deputy Headmaster Amycus Carrow, who I'd met my first night here. I was a little worried. I tried my best to mimic a knife crossing my forehead, crinkled with concern. He only laugh silently and shook his head. Seeing my impatience he started trying to give me a clearer answer, which proved ineffective. He made several motions to his shaggy hair, sometimes encircling his head, sometimes holding it down. Once he drew up his hood and held it tight. This earned him a small slash to the back of the hand. He was obviously the patient type. I'd gotten frustrated with him after only one failed attempt at communicating. If my inability to comprehend his subtle gestures was annoying him he was doing a good job at hiding it.

I was quite ready to give up on him when the food before us is suddenly replaced with a decadent dessert. Puddings and cakes and mousses lined the Slytherin table. The Hufflepuffs were presented with trays of slightly burnt cookies. The Gryffindors had nothing. Professor Carrow began ordering them to rise and guiding them from the Great Hall, shouting at them to keep their heads down, stay in line, and don't go back to comfort wimpy Kaylie Kipling.

In the rush of movement Hector made a last motion towards Carrow, who was by this time within arm's reach of him. But it wasn't in Carrow's general direction. It was lower on his person, towards the hand that rested by his side. And that's when the gestures started making sense. Clasped tightly in the hand of Amycus Carrow was a black knit hat. I shot Hector a look of understanding and he smiles in response, but this time it's different. His smile was fleeting on his lips before he returned grimly to nibbling on his cookie. In his eyes you could see no smile at all.

I took to watching the tuque swung around in Carrow's fist as he handed off duty of seeing Gryffindors out to his sister, then comes closer in my direction.

Suddenly I decided that I was going to be too smug to ask someone to pass a slice of cake from the far side of the punch bowl and spill the juice all over the table and into my lap. I stood up and let out a foul mouthed yell that resonated throughout the whole enormous, silent room.

Professor Carrow had passed by me just in time to catch dribbles of juice on his shoes. A few more drops splashed his robes as I angrily reach for dry napkins and haphazardly lashed out at the pink puddle.

"Here, let me help," Carrow insisted. His voice sounded too nice. He was faking it.

As he passed by the end of the table I stole a glance at the hat then snatched from his grasp and threw it onto the mass of soaking fabric. "I'll get it myself!" I snapped.

While I was the angry elephant in the room I didn't want to risk looking at Hector, but while the Hufflepuffs were being marched out he risked a quick smile at me over his shoulder. I responded with a sly smirk from beneath my thin veil of hair as I let the soaking hat roll into the sleeve of my robe.

* * *

Around this particularly time of year I normally would still have been sleeping naked. Underwear-clad, at most. I'd become accustomed to the luxury of having the green silk sheets of the Slytherin dormitory brushing up against my bare skin. On the first night of term, however, I climbed in behind the curtain separating my bed from the rest of the room and changed into a set of pyjamas in privacy. Not because I was squeamish about letting the other girls see me unclothed, or even because I was concerned they might be squeamish about seeing me stripping away my uniform in the middle of the room, but because in America it's not considered normal to have a juice-drenched hat hiding up your sleeve and I wouldn't have been surprised to find that it's not the norm here either.

And so I waited until I was concealed behind the heavy green curtain before letting the hat fall from my cloak sleeve and balling it up in my dirty undershirt. Inter-house acquaintances don't seem to be acceptable around here, so I figured I'd have to wait until I could randomly run into Hector in the hallway to give him his hat back. Until then, it would rest in a mass of dirty clothing under my bed.

Of course I couldn't just peacefully go to sleep after that. No, the others in my dorm had to be social. Not being used to sharing a room, or at least one in which people tried to talk to me, I'd left the curtain open after flinging the mass of clothing under my bed. Before I could flop back down and roll over, though, I was interrupted by a sudden offer for chocolate. I accepted the treat, but they rejected my suggestion of having them throw it to me. Instead Scarlett Bagley crossed the room and held the box under my face. I took the round one, assuming these usually contain some kind of fruit. I was wrong. It was almond. I hate almond. To avoid becoming a complete social pariah right off the bat I ate it anyway.

One would assume that after offering the new girl chocolate and having the new girl accept the social convention of friendliness would have been fulfilled. Apparently some people would disagree. After I'd popped a chocolate in my mouth and tried to hide my gagging Scarlett invited herself to sit on the end of my bed.

"So, Audrey – can I call you Audrey?"

_Yes, because when people call me 'Ms. Chisholm' like I'm some preppy proper lady it creeps me out. If you call me Victoria I'll just have to murder you. _"Yeah."

"Great. So, Audrey, you're American, huh?"

_No duh. Have you heard a word I've said yet? Do I not sound hopelessly American? _"Yeah."

Tonia Trengove thought this was a good time to catch the conversation train. "My dad went to America once. Woodrow Trengove, short, about five feet nine inches, with a shiny head and a mustache?"

I stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to make her point, but she only stared back expectantly. She thought I might have met her father. I considered asking her if she's ever encountered a map in her life. Instead I say, , "America's a pretty big country. And that's just the States, there's Canada and Mexico too. Chances are your father and I weren't even in the same city." I felt like this last part should've been obvious but the fact she would even pose the question in the first place told me it might not be so for her.

"So what part of America are you from?" asked Scarlett.

"NYC," I replied. This was met with a moment of dead air. It took a minute to realize I've never heard anyone use an acronym around here, even when the Death Eaters talked about LCME they would call it its proper name. "New York City."

"New York City?" Eleanora Jernigan entered the discussion on a note of suspicion. "Isn't that a place where lots of _them _live?" Just from the tone in her voice only the most unfamiliar with current events would be left to wonder who she was talking about. She was accusing me of being friendly with muggles.

Instantly the mood changes. Every eye was on me, accusing me, drilling me with their suspicions. Even the dark haired girl whose face had been glued to a piece of parchment as she tried to write a letter on her lap looked up tentatively.

My position suddenly became dangerous. One wrong word and they could have me arrested or even killed. But I never was the type to worry like that. "Yup. Most everyone in the States is either a mudblood or a blood traitor." Then I stole another chocolate from Scarlett's box.

She let out a nervous laugh. Tonia looked relieved and Eleanora still looked disapproving of me. That was fine by me, though. Based on her personality thus far I didn't really approve of her either. I shot her a smug grin as I placed the chocolate in my open mouth and rolled it around with my tongue. Scarlett and Tonia laughed but I seemed to have managed to both bother and disgust Eleanora quite well because she gave me one last glare before pulling the curtains around her.

Tonia and Scarlett explained what a temper our roommate was known for. She idolized the pureblood movement and felt eternally in debt to it because of her halfblood status. She made up for this by spending most of her days pinning other people as blood traitor. She was used to being feared, not stood up to.

I was laughing a little bit at the stories they told me about Eleanora when I noticed a pair of eyes still trailing on me. It was Astoria Greengrass, my fourth and final roommate. When she noticed I was staring back she quickly turned her attention back to her letter. But she hadn't been quick enough. I'd seen her eyes. The solemnness, the fear, and even the pity. My sudden shift in focus must have been quite apparent to the other two, for they quickly stood to start pestering Astoria.

"Hey, who're you writing?"

"Is it your _lover_?"

The playful taunting continued but they couldn't get anything out of her. Eventually she hid the letter away and forced the other out of her bed so she could sleep. They resisted for a little while, and I took advantage of their distraction to draw my own curtains.

At first I couldn't sleep. Not because of the noise, everyone else had also gone to bed, and not because I was in a new bed, I'd been here for a month. Letting my wakefulness get the best of me I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling to reflect over the people I'd met today. Scarlett was too perky and too gossipy, and Tonia was a bit of a dolt, but, overall, I thought I could learn to live with them. Maybe even get along with them when Eleanora's pride was on the line. The moment Eleanora accused me of being a blood traitor I knew I could never get along with her. She's rude and takes far too much interest in other people's business. Astoria seemed a bit winy, but I decided to withhold that judgement until I could get to know her when she wasn't being tortured to confess to a secret love that may not even exist. And there was one more person on my mind. It was Hector.

No one smiled at the Sorting, unless it was a maniacal happiness at another's suffering. Even the Slytherins, who were supposed to be the teachers' favorites, were subdued with signs of misery. One thing was clear: the Sorting was not a happy occasion. It was damnation. It was what instated you into this strict and cruel dictatorship of Hogwarts School and decide your fate for the next seven years of your life. Sometimes even longer, for it seemed as though as the Gryffindors grew older and older there were fewer and fewer of them.

Yet Hector was smiling. Throughout the entire ceremony, he didn't stop. Smiles of happiness, of pity, of encouragement, of prospect. He'd already been physically hurt by the Death Eaters who he would spend the course of his schooling with, and one of the teachers that he would be taught by everyday had taken a hat that was evidently very dear to him.

Yet Hector was smiling.

How could he? How could he have been happy when he had so little to be happy for?

I don't think I'll ever understand Hector, but I was beginning to think I understood why I'd been so intrigued by him.

I've heard a phrase before; opposite attract. I think they were talking about magnets, but I wondered if the same might be true about people. Could I have been drawn to Hector, who seemed to be oozing positivity, because I have always been so negative? What was he seeing that I couldn't? Even Scarlett probably saw things in a more positive light than I could. After everything that happened I saw so little good in everything. I couldn't trust people. I would make them fear me, make them leave me alone. I went into situations having already decided that it was going to be a compromise. This outlook was never that bad, though. It has definitely kept me safe and out of trouble. It's kept me from getting hurt by people or lead astray.

Maybe, for Hector, the opposite was true. Maybe he went into situations seeing them as blessings rather than curses, or met people for the light inside them rather than the darkness. Maybe he trusted and accepted everyone. But what good would that be? It must make you happy because it certainly wouldn't keep you safe. Or maybe it had already done what it was supposed to do? Was this positivity intended to attract people? Well, that wouldn't be that safe either.

This thinking before bed thing was starting to seem like an awful idea, because now I was even more awake than before. I banished the thoughts from my head and willed myself to sleep. Unfortunately, this is one of the commands that your body is very bad at following. I tossed and turned for a couple hours trying to come up with some clever trick to get myself to sleep so that the image of Hector's sweetly smiling face might stop making me regretting half my personality. Then, as the bell in the clock tower chimed two in the morning, I threw my pyjamas under my bed.


	3. The Chaser

There's hardly a wizard in North America that can't operate a computer. The ones' who can't can usually attribute that to their old age and traditional ways, but, then again, it's the same with most muggles. But for the young ones there was a whole compulsory class dedicated to the basic use of muggle technology, and sometimes the study of muggle history and current events, called Muggle Studies. Of course we didn't use muggle technology in class, since magic distorts it in large masses, but we learn about it in theory and everyone was encouraged to practice it. In North America (the USA and Canada at least, I don't know much about Mexico) the wizard and muggle worlds have always been so intermixed that it'd be impossible for us to blend in if we didn't at least know how to dial number on a simple land line. Most people knew even more because they lived with muggles or grew up around them.

But, here in Britain, I was beginning to wonder if any of them even knew how to say the word "telephone", let alone how to know the difference between a phone and a hairdryer. Here, there seemed to be no contact with the muggle world at all. This was probably attributable to the new pureblood movement, and knowing that I could be killed because of it was sometimes the only reason I didn't speak out in my Muggle Studies class. Growing up close to and intermixed with muggles I was quite familiar with their habits. And, I promise you this, muggles are nothing like they were presented to be in Muggle Studies. These implications would not be going over well back in the States.

Firstly; they implied that a muggle lifestyle was insufficient. They talked about how wizards were forced into hiding because muggles hadn't the ability to deal with basic tasks that were easily dealt with through magic and chose to exploit the wizarding community because of it. Secondly; they suggested that muggles were impulsively violent. That when something they wanted was scarce they would kill their brethren out of greed. And when something they feared was loose they band together to destroy it. Muggles were said to fear difference and smite it before it can flourish. Lastly, they said that muggles were tyrants. Ruling with an iron fist and a fixed set of ideals, unwilling to compromise, unwilling to let others rise to power. Even amongst themselves they constantly commanded total control.

All of this was true to a point. Also very hypocritical. Owls are a nice way to communicate, yes, but they pale in comparison to the instantaneous speed of e-mails. As for the idea that muggles are violent, power hungry tyrants… there's a particular group of non-muggles that comes to mind when those words come up.

These pureblood supremacist deserved credit for their cleverness, though. They were thinking long term. By making Muggle Studies a mandatory course, and teaching the kids to see muggles the way they wanted them seen, they would eventually convert a whole generation to their cause. Very sly, Voldemort, very sly.

At first I'd been shocked to find Muggle Studies on my schedule, first class of my first day, but after ten minutes in the class I started understanding what they were trying to achieve. After twenty I was zoning out. The class was boring and repetitive. Professor Carrow was already repeating herself. I couldn't imagine what it'd be like if I'd had six years background in the course.

Dark Arts in the afternoon was a far livelier. The prejudice of Professor Carrow, the male, was ever so increasingly apparent. He started of the class by talking about the three staple curses of Dark Magic: Cruciatus, Imperius, and Avada Kedavra. Everyone had had some training in the casting of such spells, which was the main component of my tutoring in the last month of summer, and this year we would be learning to cast them full force. He wanted us to get right into things, so he paired us up, one Gryffindor and one Slytherin per team, and started giving instructions for casting the Imperius curse. Each person was given a rat and instructed to take turns casting the spell on the rats first, then, after mastering the curse on rats, we were to try casting it on each other. Of course after his instruction and our practice with the rat we didn't both have time to stand in the line of fire, so, naturally, the Gryffindors went first. Looking around I saw my classmates making fools of the Gryffindors. Wilmer Stoddard, who was particularly skilled at the Dark Arts, even managed to get Rosalind Muttoone to use the Cruciatus curse on her friend, Minty Allaway.

I was thankful for the screaming. It gave me an excuse to be distracted from my failed attempts at cursing the rat. That was a mistake. I looked away for a minute and the rat dashed off. "Hey!" I yelled as I dived after it. I used to like animals, but was beginning to change my mind after I realized that animals didn't like me. Trying to curse them into drowning themselves probably didn't help. As I lunged after the rat I knocked over the bucket I was supposed to be drowning it in. "Aw, shit!" I exclaimed. Two days in a row. I was beginning to think I should just wake up soaked. While I attempted to salvage my notes from earlier in the class from their watery doom the stupid rat leapt back onto the desk and sat before me patiently.

"You know if you get a poor grade on this project they'll find a way to make it my fault, right?"

I glared at him. His name was Connor Hunnisett and he was far better at this than I was. It took him only two tries to kill the rat that lay wet and motionless on his desk. When my turn came around I resolved to kill it in one shot, make myself the superior in that situation. When I stepped up to cast my spell he looked as though he was readying himself, steadying himself for the moment when I would be casting the spell on him. After my fifth try he relaxed quite a bit. By the time Minty started screaming we'd both lost count and he'd begun to look rather bored.

"We still have five minutes left. If I gave you a hand with that you may be able to curse me before lunch."

"That's an interesting thing to look forward to." I replied critically. I'd never been bad at magic before. Never outstandingly good, but never bad. After my performance today I'd lost a good deal of dignity and wasn't about to throw any more of it away by taking his help.

"Just let me give you a hand," he said as he rose.

The moment I'd yelled at my rat was the moment I'd become the centre of attention. Until then Connor was the only person who knew how much I was struggling to get this curse out. Now the whole room knew. I pursed my lips and retreated behind my curtain of hair while Connor should me the right way to wave my wand, how to focus my mind, and the right way to say the incantation. I hadn't actually been doing it wrong, but because of our different accents it was hard to figure that out.

By the end of the class I'd figured out how not only how to keep the rat on the table without holding it by the tail but also how to get it to crawl into the bucket. Once there was a paper thin barrier of water between us, however, I lost hold and he jumped out. Connor pointed out my progress and even made the comment that, after the events of today, killing the rat would be all the more satisfying. I would have found this amusing if I wasn't purposefully trying to dislike him.

Carrow criticized Connor, accusing him of giving me false instruction, feigning ignorance to my progress, and ordering him to clean up the small pond I'd never meant to conjure up. I started helping, moving the wet papers to other desks to dry and soaking up the mess with the hem of my cloak. Carrow insisted quite harshly that I go to lunch. I didn't verbally accept or refuse, I just kept cleaning with an air of annoyance. Eventually he gave up and took himself down to lunch, leaving Connor and me alone. The hems of our cloaks became so soaked that we just took them off all together and threw them down on the puddle and moved on to casting hot air from our wands to dry out the papers and my pants.

"I'm surprised you can manage that," Connor said teasingly, but I picked up on the tone too late.

"I'm good at magic!" I snapped. The moment the words were out of my mouth I could hear how whiny and desperate they sounded. With eyebrows furrowed in anger and embarrassment I promptly returned to drying my pants, but my attention was drawn back up when I heard him laughing. "What?" I growled defensively.

"It's too bad people in different houses can't hang out," he smiled. "You'd be fun to pick on." The smile faded from his face as he met my hateful glare. He sighed and returned to drying wet papers. "What I mean is you're different. You're not as scared as the rest of us."

"What are you all afraid of?" I slowed down my pants-drying speed. This may be the one chance I'd ever get to hear the story from another side of the war. He seemed to have the same thought, because he spent the same time on a quarter of a page that he'd previously spent on a whole one.

"You-Know-Who, the Death Eaters… the changes…"

"The changes?"

He nodded. "Hogwarts has changed. The whole world has changed. Nothing's been the same since. The things you put your faith in before… you can't depend on them now."

"That seems… dramatic." It was true. The way he said it sounded more like a line from a play rather than a recount of actual events. But his last line, "…you can't depend on them now", got me thinking a bit. Wondering. It showed me the hole in the stories that reached America. I was beginning to see the thing that hadn't made sense, though it was still vague. "What happened to Harry Potter?" I asked.

This made him jump a bit. He stared at me for a moment, and I stared back. He saw the seriousness in my eyes and looked around. Scheduling here was so strict there was no way anyone could be around, but we waited in silence for several moments anyway, listening, waiting. "He killed him. He killed Harry Potter," Connor whispered.

"Yeah, the American press didn't think that was important enough to print," I said sarcastically. "What was so special about him though? Why did the rebellion fall apart without him?" This time I was quite serious again, even speaking in a hushed tone.

Even at such a slow rate Connor managed to already be done with drying the papers and had moved on to stacking them. I'd long since finished with my pants and wasn't nearly as eager to stay occupied. "Where does this sheet go?" he asked in a fairly loud voice, gesturing me to come over. Seeing where he was going with this I slipped off the desk I'd been sitting on and leaned over the sheet to examine it. I was certain no one would hear his next words. I hardly heard him, and he was so close he was breathing in my ear. "I wasn't in Dumbledore's Army, so I don't know everything. Some of what I know is only what the Death Eaters told me. But there was a prophecy. Something along the lines that Potter would be the only one who could kill You-Know-Who. After Harry died trying to kill him we didn't stand a chance."

He seemed satisfied that I was sufficiently filled in because he moved away from me and put my notes into my damp bag. Of course I wanted to know more, like what was Dumbledore's Army, what happened in that last battle, what exactly were the words of the prophecy, and how is it that Voldemort could only be killed by one person, but Connor and I both knew that we would both be punished for being together. We'd have been killed if someone found out we were talking about the rebellion. Thus we packed up and decided we'd go back to our respective dorms to get dry cloaks, as we would arouse suspicions if we showed up in the Great Hall together. It was probably too late to get anything to eat before afternoon classes started anyway.

Part way to the door Connor stopped me in my tracks by taking my arm. My initial reflex was to get away from the threat, but I was only half a step away when I saw that what seized me was not a threat. It was a nervous boy. "You're not going to tell, are you? You won't tell people what we talked about… will you?"

I pondered my response. Staring into his vulnerable eyes I wondered what he'd lose if I did tell. His education? His dignity? His freedom? His life? Or could there have been something more to lose…?

"I won't tell Scarlett Bagley, if that's what you're worried about."

He grinned. Thankfully my joke came across as one. "Thanks." Relief swept over his face. He was sincerely gracious.

Despite having passed what should have been the conclusion of our exchange he held on to my arm, eyes locked on mine, as if I may retract my promise at any moment and run off screaming for the Headmaster. The interaction was becoming very uncomfortable. I tried to relay this with an awkward smile and raised eyebrows. He got the message and released me with a muffled "Sorry" before turning to take the stairs down to the dungeons that contained Gryffindor common room with a sudden interest in his own feet. He'd disappeared before I was even out of the Dark Arts classroom.

As I ascend to Slytherins' tower I shook my guilt of forgetting to thank him for helping me with the Curse. When I got to my dorm I went to pull my spare cloak out of my trunk, when I noticed a pile of fresh laundry stacked on top of it. Evidently the house elves had found the secret stash under my bed. On top of the pile was a knit hat, a few sizes too small for my head. Hector's toque. For a moment I thought about catching up with him in the hallway, but inter house relations aren't allowed. They aren't actually forbidden, just severely discouraged. We aren't supposed to like each other. I decided to ball up the hat at the bottom of my school bag and wait for a time when I could sneak it to him. They can't keep us separate forever.

I managed to sneak into the line of Slytherin seventh years marching to class unnoticed. If you were from another house and you tried to do so you'd get detention. They're much more strict about keeping the other houses in line. Slytherins receive more leniency since most of them were brought up with the same beliefs as the Death Eaters and are less likely to try anything stupid.

At that time we had potions with the Ravenclaws. Potions. Something I'm actually bad at. After my failure in Dark Arts and my obliviousness in Muggle Studies my classmates must think I'm brainless. They judged me with their eyes, fleeting glances at the lumpy grey mixture that should have been a Draught of Living Death. I found myself wondering if Connor was good at potions, and then banished the thought by dumping all the remaining ingredients into the cauldron willy-nilly. It looked like mashed rat guts. As it cooked it started looking more and more like the vomit of a starving wild dog. Professor Llewellyn assured me that it was perfectly acceptable, though right after that she gave a Ravenclaw boy detention for just having his come out a little foggy.

Professor Llewellyn drove me nuts, and not just because there were far too many L's in her name. Her stringy grey hair was pulled back in a tight French braid and her wrinkly lips were always pursed, making her absolutely monstrous when she smiled at you. Rather worse when she was yelling. She resembled an angry vulture ripping apart a carcass when she yelled, like when she told the Ravenclaw boy that he must have let a piece of stem fall into his cauldron. At first he tried to refute her claims, but, seeing as it only made the problem worse, he decided to take the abuse sitting down.

The day wore on, with charms and herbology before supper. I kept a close eye on the Hufflepuff table as I passed it and saw Hector, already in his place at the end of the table. We smiled at each other, and even risked exchanging a quick wave. I wanted to ask him how his day had been. Share war stories about our first classes. But that was never going to happen. We hardly got to look at each other before I was whisked away in the tide of marching students. I took up my place at the end of the Slytherin table, directly across the Hall from Hector. We ate without really trying to communicate much, and left with the simple exchange of a grin.

Back in the common room I hunkered down to tackle my Muggle Studies essay on the dangers of muggles. It was probably the easiest essay I'd ever written. Just mention that they're violent, blood thirsty tyrants and you've guaranteed yourself a perfect mark. Soon I'd come to find out that this method would work for all Muggle Studies assignments.

Across the room was a small group of first years getting tutored in the levitation charm by some second years. "It's _levi-O-sa_, not _levi-o-SA_." Lucinda Whelan pointed out smugly.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" said Jill Daughtery.

"No!" snapped Lucinda. "Your arms as stiff as a branch! You need to flourish it mo—No, not that much!"

Everyone seemed to be in a bit of a panic over this so I looked up to see what all the fuss was about. And not a moment too soon. Apparently Jill had managed to lift the paper weight off the table, but it got too high in the air for her to control. It was starting to fall towards the circle of seventh years. Eleanora squealed and held her essay over her head, as if it might actually protect her from a flying solid glass ball. But we never got a chance to find out. Reflexively, I stood up and grabbed the orb out of the air in front of her. She started peeking at me from behind the paper where she still trembled. Thanks were forming on her lips until she saw me looking complacently at her, pitching the weight into the air and catching it effortlessly. Seeing her look at me with a face full of rage and embarrassment was enough to make up for the smug looks she'd given me while I struggled through my classes. I turned my back on her, faced the group of first years, and made a motion of throwing the weight back at them. When half the room jumped I chuckled and walked over to place the weight on their table.

"Sorry…" whispered Jill shamefully. I just shrugged and went to fetch my things.

Back in the dorm I let that catch bring on the nostalgia. I missed Quodpot, I missed baseball, I missed smokes. I'd never admit it but I missed having people to talk to, too. I didn't like being chatty or anything but I liked sitting around with my smoking friends at lunch and playing catch with the kids on the block. Realizing that I hadn't played a game of anything in several months made the whole thing even more depressing. I lay on my bed, throwing a crumpled piece of parchment up in the air and catching it as it fell, wondering if I might like Hogwarts a bit better if I had someone to hang out with. Hector, for instance, maybe even Connor. No, not Connor. I had to keep reminding myself that I didn't like him.

I sighed. All I was doing was upsetting myself.

_This is your life now, Audrey, _I told myself. _Get used to it._

After catching the ball of parchment one last time I discarded it to the floor and rolled over to go to sleep, curtains open and fully clothed.

The next few weeks became very repetitive. My reputation in the Dark Arts was getting better, but Connor and I still had an unspoken agreement that he'd sit where I could see him in case I got off track again. Muggle Studies was still boring, but very easy to pass. History of Magic was, as with everything else, very biased. And my potions still came out looking like I'd just added water to the ground up remains of a dead animal. Hector and I exchanged routine smiles at meal time, though I still couldn't find a time to give him his hat back. The red mark on his forehead was starting to fade.

Having him around, even if he wasn't _really_ around, made me feel a bit less lonely. I'd even come to embrace Scarlett's evening 'girl talk' about how so-and-so broke the heart of what's-her-face or Professor something-something eats dead puppies or something along those line. (I don't actually listen).

Still, it was unfortunate that I couldn't move very much. Actually move. We were always in the tower if we weren't in classes or the Great Hall. I was so thankful that the Gryffindors and Slytherins had traded dormitories after the war. Being in the dungeon and unable to open a window would have killed me. An evening dose of fresh air is all that kept me sane. Some nights I thought I heard a Quod being thrown around. I'd get excited, waiting for the sound of an explosion or a splash, but neither ever came. After the sound had driven me crazy I finally decided to bring the matter up to Scarlett, who probably knew everything about everything except what she was supposed to know.

"Scarlett, does Hogwarts have a Quodpot team?" I asked through the curtain of her bed while she changed into her pyjamas.

"A what team?"

"Quodpot."

"What's that?"

I sighed. "It's a sport. Played on brooms, you try to get the ball into the pot before it blows you up."

"Well, that sounds dreadful," she explained as she stepped out from behind her curtain to braid her hair. "Sounds like it's even less civilized than Quidditch."

"Quidditch?"

"It's what the boys around here play. Girls can technically play it, too, but most just choose not to."

Now this was something that I could pay attention to. "How's it played?"

"Oh, don't ask me," she laughed. "I only went to the games because I used to date the captain of our team, Urquhart."

Damn. That was no help.

"Are they playing now?"

"Yeah, I think tryouts were last weekend."

"Why wasn't there an ad or a signup sheet or something?"

"Who cares?" scowled Eleanora. I liked her less and less every minute. "They wouldn't let you on the team anyway." After she'd crawled into bed and pulled the curtains I threw a ball of parchment at her that bounced off the curtain. Scarlett found it funny.

"'Night Scarlett," I moaned, not finding it that funny at all.

The next day I didn't return to my dorm after supper with the rest of my house. I noticed a small group of Slytherins heading for the front door and followed them. When Carrow asked where I was going I simply said, "I'm with them," without stopping to look at him. He made sounds of protest but I ignored him entirely. The group walked down the front steps and around to the left side of the school, off the main path. My steps were loud, but they were apparently too stupid to notice. We'd passed the courtyard and were about to go under a stone archway when someone finally noticed me.

"What can I do for you?" Carbrey Breckenridge asked with a small smirk. Most of the guys looked upset or irritated that I'd followed them unnoticed. Carbrey looked way too happy.

"I heard we had a Kwiddix team. I want on." Couldn't have put it any more bluntly.

My request was met with a series of laughs and smiles. "Really?" said Carbrey. "Have you ever even seen a _Quidditch _match before?"

"No." My response was not met with laughter. It was met with an uproar. They started mocking me, pretending to sneak around announcing that they wanted to be part of a game they know nothing about in high pitched voices. Then I saw a ball that looked similar to a Quod under Robert Shinington's arm. They were so busy making fun of me that they hadn't even noticed I was stamping towards them. Kentigern Colquhoun was just thanking me for the laugh when I forcefully took the ball from Robert.

"Hey!" he yelled. "Hey, give that back!"

I didn't listen. I stormed off with my back to them until I was several paces away. I picked a tree far outside the main castle wall and threw the ball as hard as I could. The boys ran up behind me, furious, but what could they do now? Run after it?

There was an invisible barrier that kept things from getting in or out of the castle grounds, so I knew the ball wouldn't actually reach the tree. I knew it would hit the barrier, putting the group of dementors closest to it on guard for a threat that wasn't there, then fly back at us just as forcefully as it had hit. It was a little higher than I'd wanted it to be on the fly back, but with a small spring I was able to take it out of the air with one hand. When I finally gave the rest of the team my attention again they looked stunned. Without even pretending to smile I held the ball up for Robert Shinington. After he took it I turned on my heels and walked off, with Carbrey right behind me.

"Wait— Where-? How-? How'd you learn to throw like that?"

"Quodpot," I answered simply without the courtesy of turning around.

"Quotpod?"

"Quodpot. It's popular in America." I thought it might be best if I didn't mention baseball.

"Well you know…" he began, slightly out of breath from a burst in speed. Before he started talking again he'd cut me off, lazily leaning against the castle wall in a way that should have been cool but with his heavy breathing only proved to look stupid. "You know we could show you how to play and you might get on the team."

I looked at him for a moment, implying that I thought he was nuts, then turned around. "Captain?" I asked. Glenn Lennox waved. "Am I on the team?"

He looked around at his players for a moment, then nodded and said, "We'll see."

That practice mainly consisted of me learning the ropes of Quidditch. I knew some different throws from Quodpot and other sports that I didn't bother to mention, and had taken Cefin Pritchard's position as Chaser by the end of practice. The game as a whole was vastly different from Quodpot; two players tried to knock you out of the sky with balls, called Bludgers, that were jinxed to attack you, and one player was chasing this crazy little gold ball everywhere that the match couldn't end without. Other than that, at least as a Chaser, it wasn't that different. Sure, the target was guarded, but the point was the same. Instead of 'get Quod into pot before explosion' it was 'get Quaffle into hoop around Keeper'. Pretty basic.

It felt great to move again. Feeling the wind in my hair, the Quaffle under my arm, hearing the calls of my teammates. Even the Bludgers were welcome. They added a sort of vigor to the experience. By the end of it I was comfortable enough around this group that I could tease Aster Darwin with the rest of them. But there was something odd about it.

"This seems way too fun for a drab school like this," I laughed, breathlessly.

"It's not supposed to be," said Robert as he landed beside me. "Fun, that is."

"Why?" I asked, flipping my broom over my shoulder.

"It's supposed to make the other kids feel bad," my co-Chaser, Alwyn Vaughan, replied. "If the referee notices someone on one of the other teams playing well after the first game, something bad happens to them. They always make it look like an accident, though. Then get them replaced by someone bad."

"Really?" I said. "What would they want to do that for? If everyone on the team sucks it no fun for us to beat them."

"I know," said Robert, sounding as though he was trying to conceal a sigh. "But the Quidditch Cup has always been a source of pride for the Houses. And we can't have the others feeling pride in themselves, can we?"

"Oh. I see."

Suddenly being a part of the game seemed a little less meaningful. What's the point of playing someone who you know can't keep up with you? But I let it slide. It meant so much to have something to look forward to. There was a new spring in my step on the walk to classes after that. I was still cold to people, generally pushing them away, but, overall, I was happier. Having something to do felt good. I began noticing things a little more, and one of those things was the head of thick, messy blonde hair passing me on my way to Transfiguration. I had to do a double take, but, sure enough, there he was, the only one smiling in the Hufflepuff line.

At supper that night I gave him an apologetic look, sorry that I'd never noticed him in the halls before. I guess he was just registered in my mind as "meal time friend". He shrugged and went back to his soup, implying that it hadn't bothered him. It didn't really bother me either. On the contrary, I was thrilled. It was just one more time in the day that I'd get to see him. And it would be much easier to slip him the hat while we were passing one another in the hall rather than while we were eating.

Transfiguration was only once a week, though. It'd be a little while before I could get it to him. To try and make the time go faster I pulled up my hood when no one was looking at supper time, in an attempt to imitate the signal that Hector had originally developed to mean 'hat', then pulled it down and held up my fingers indicating the number of days till we'd pass again. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

The initial thought was to be the first one out of Dark Arts on Tuesday and be at the beginning of the herd marching to Transfiguration in the East wing. After a bit of thought this seemed like a poor plan. If I was at the front everyone would see me talking to someone from another House. But at the back our escort between classes would see us make the exchange. Neither route would be very good. The best thing to do was to hang around the middle of the group on the far left side, the side that brushed up against the first year Hufflepuffs. I filed my way into a good position and we marched off. Down one set of stairs. Through a corridor. Up another set of stairs. Around a corner. Up a small final set of stair. Along the corridor. Past the Hufflepuff first years.

Of course he was smiling when I first laid eyes on him. I don't think he was capable of not smiling. I let my sights off him for a minute to pull his hat out of my bag and immediately wished I hadn't. There was a thud, the crinkling of paper, then rude yells and cruel laughter. I looked up to see Wilmer a few paces in front of me, a face full of mock anger, calling, "Watch where you're going!" Just as he turned around I sunk my hands into his back and shoved him.

"Pick on somebody your own size!" I shouted at him as he fumbled to regain his footing. He looked over his assailant for a moment before replying,

"Like who, you?"

"Like, yes." I remarked.

He looked me over again then smirked patronizingly. "Sorry," he began. "But I don't hit girls."

"Lucky for you," I said snidely, "neither do I."

He didn't have time to process the insult, let alone protest it, before I whipped around to return to the scene of the crime. Hector's book bag had fallen open and, since their guard insisted his Housemates not stop to help him, his papers had been shuffled everywhere by their feet. He was down on his hands and knee, pulling them back into his bag, still without even a hint of distress. I got down to the floor and silently started pulling his belongings towards us. After several moments of awkward silence I finally saw fit to say, "Hey."

"Hi." His voice was high pitched and childish, matching his appearance perfectly. One could question whether or not he was actually just eight or nine years old but had been smart enough to start school early. With the strictness of current regulations, however, that wasn't likely. I decided to take the hat out of my bag before I forgot about it.

"Don't worry," I said, holding it out to him. "The house elves worked wonders on it. You'd never guess I dropped it in the punch bowl."

This made his smile wider. There was a bright twinkle in his eyes as he took the hat from my hands and pulled it over his head. Tufts of messy blonde hair stuck out this way and that, making him look a bit like a homeless person. A happy homeless person. He stared at my feet for a minute, as though absorbing what it felt like to have the hat back on his head, then brought his gaze back to meet my eyes. "Thanks, miss."

Miss. I was about to get angry at him for calling me that when I remembered he didn't know my name. "I'm Audrey," I said with my hand extended. "Audrey Chisholm."

"Hector," he said, accepting the handshake. "Hector Tyrell."

"Well, then, Hector Tyrell, I'll have you know that if you call me 'Miss' again you won't live to tell the tale," I threatened playfully. He giggled softly at this.

For a moment, we were happy.

Then we felt how strongly the Death Eaters wanted to stop House unity.

I don't know why the guards had left us behind, but whatever the reason was it had worn off. Both of us took the full weight of a guard on our shoulders before they leant back and hoisted us to our feet. Hector must have been used to being man handled, because he took it quite calmly, letting the guard push him away down the hall. I wasn't used to it and I didn't go calmly. My upbringing taught me that if someone touches you, you fight back. And I did. I struggled and thrashed around and sunk my elbow into his jaw. After he'd released me out of pain I turned to him and looked straight into his infuriated face, mine burning with just as much rage.

"I can walk!" I shouted at him.

I stormed into Transfiguration late not caring what kind of attention I'd drawn. Wilmer looked pleased with the trouble he'd caused. I saw it appropriate to throw him a rude hand gesture.

Hector gave me sympathetic looks that night, trying to make me stop stressing over the day's events. But he was the one who should've received some comforting. There was a new bruise on his jaw. It was fully possible the man I'd hit had done it to Hector as a sort of revenge. Yet, still, all I did was sit there moping about how miserable I was. I'd never felt guilty for being selfish before.

The following morning Hector was ordered to sit closer to the head of his table. When I tried to follow I was immediately ordered back to my regular spot. A week later I found out that the first year Hufflepuffs were taking a different route out of the East wing. Worst of all, when I did catch glimpses of Hector, his hat was missing. I was enraged. I didn't even know why. It was like someone had taken my brother. My Quidditch team didn't know what I was upset about, they just knew I was upset, and didn't really offer any comfort.

"I actually think you play better when you're cross," suggested Neil Jardine on our way down to the training pitch. Guess who took a Quaffle to the face that practice.

Despite their lack of effort to foster my feelings Quidditch was still the best part of my day. Late October was our first game and I was really looking forward to it. Since the official Quidditch pitch was burnt down by the Death Eaters during the war the game would be played on the practice field. It would be mandatory viewing, to crush their House pride and all. Still, I thought it'd be fun. I had never played in front of a crowd before. My baseball games had been purely recreational, and the largest Quodpot viewing we'd had was half a dozen. This would be almost fifty times that many.

We were directed to change in the bathrooms, since the actually Quidditch changing rooms were on the other side of school grounds and were pointless to use, and then meet in a classroom near the training pitch to go over strategies. Not that there was much to go over. We were going to win. The Gryffindors had to let us, or they'd all get hurt in an 'accident'. We all ended up just sitting around on desks waiting for the game to start. Some of them broke off into small conversations about girls and homework and the kinds of things boys talk about. Sometimes they'd try to pull me into the conversation, then quickly abort. They knew I didn't want to talk to any of them. I didn't like them. I just worked well with them in the air. I spent my prep time doing what every athlete should have been doing; stretching. Already the uniforms seemed inadequate. I had to pause between stretches to position my cloak in a way that I wouldn't be sitting on it, and every time I bent over my sweater rose up to expose a bit of skin underneath it. I was planning to wear an undershirt but the sweater on its own was so warm, and that was before the cloak. Who wears a knit sweater in sport anyway, besides old men out golfing? At least the brooms were nice, donated by our former Seeker's family. They were Nimbus 2001s, sleek and fast yet quite steady. The rotating stirrups were a bit hard to get used to in straight flight but they came in handy when making turns, which, in a pitch this tiny, we'd be making a lot of turns.

"We're on," said Glenn, our team captain, from the door. There was no need for any sort of motivational speech or encouragement. Everyone knew what was going to happen.

The Seeker, Aster Darwin, and Keeper, Robert Shinington, went out first, followed by the three Chasers, Alwyn Vaughan, Neil Jardine, and me, and the Beaters, Glenn Lennox and Carbrey Breckenridge, would be out last. We circled the pitch while they introduced the Gryffindors.

Nobody clapped. The pitch may as well have been empty. No one really even acknowledged that anything was going on. They just sat there like a black wall with hints of color in respective places. Green, blue, red, yellow, and… green again? This wasn't an exciting or happy event. People didn't carry banners or flags. The closest thing to a display of house pride was the fact that their house colors were on their uniforms. That's why it stood out so much to see the green piece of paper with the silver letters. It was so small, I had to squint on the lap by to read it, but, sure enough, between his small hands was a sign that read "Go 04". 04. That was my number. For a moment I didn't really care who was watching. For just a moment I had Hector back. I turned over my shoulder and waved, becoming the only smiling player on the pitch when he waved back.

We converged at the center of the pitch while our referee, who'd really only be watching to make sure the Gryffindors played terribly, released the Snitch. Aster's eyes darted along with it, trying to predict its trail the best he could. Then the Bludgers were released, flying into the air, hardly avoiding the Gryffindor captain. Finally, with the screech of a whistle that signified the start of the match, the Quaffle was thrown, up, up, up, and, as it fell back to Earth, we were upon it. Slytherin took possession immediately and scored two goals in the first minute. There was a blip of clapping after our goal that quickly faded out. Clearly the Bludgers were trained to hit the Gryffindors because they lost two Chasers to injury in the first fifteen minutes. Ten minutes after that they lost a Beater, too. This was hardly a fun game. It was too easy. I wasn't sure if it made the other Houses feel bad about themselves, but it sure made me feel stupid. All I could hope for was that Aster would take the Snitch soon and end this agony. It couldn't be long now. The Gryffindor Seeker had a broken arm and a lousy broom, and the pitch was small. I heard that normally in Quidditch the Snitch can go where it pleases. But not here. Here letting the Snitch escape the pitch would justify kids going after it and they couldn't have that.

The score stood at 120 to 10 (Gryffindor's remaining Chaser got a goal accidently) when Aster spotted the Snitch about as far above the pitch as it could have been. The opposing Seeker watched him shooting straight up into the air for it but didn't bother trying to go after it. He just sat idle by on his broom like the rest of us, waiting for Aster to end the match. His arm reached out and it looked like his fingers brushed the Snitch.

Then a cloaked figure knocked him out of the sky.


	4. The Slytherins

Dementors.

There were dementors on the grounds.

Not just two or three, but a whole swarm of them blackened the sky.

Every Quidditch player still in the air landed as quickly as they could without crashing, some of them even did crash. I was relatively close to the ground and landed seconds before Aster did, only I landed feet first. I might have worried about whether or not he'd broken his neck if the panic hadn't set in so quickly. And not just in me. In everyone.

The teachers and guards were trying to give the students orders to stay seated and not go off on their own but they were unconvincing, most of them trying to run for cover themselves. It seemed like a cowardly trick until I started noticing the shock in their eyes. Who gets that surprised and panicked at an attack they'd planned? But if they hadn't done this… who did? Was it the Ministry? Or did someone else want us to get hurt?

There was no time think about it so extensively. I'd lost my broom almost right after landing from the force of the crowd and my lack of will to hold onto it. I made myself stare at the ground for a moment, the one thing that seemed relatively unchanged, and went over the events of the last minute or two. It didn't help. Everything that had happened led me to believe that they were after Aster. If that was true the why would there be so many of them? And why would they attack everyone else? I took a turn on my train of thought and instead started thinking about what to do to keep myself focussed. I had just decided to go back to our prep classroom when a small piece of green paper blew by my feet. I didn't notice it at first but, as it rolled over in the wind, I remembered;

"HECTOR!"

The scream was out of my mouth before I knew it was even inside it, like it hadn't been my own voice at all, like it came from the mouth of another. But it hadn't. I wanted something to focus on, and I found it.

I started weaving and pushing between people, trying to get to where I'd seen him. There were screams coming from all around. Names. Sometimes it was the same detached cry that had come from my mouth pleading for Hector. Sometimes they were names I didn't recognize, of people who were there and people who weren't. Sometimes I knew I recognized the name but before I could reach the answer I was knocked out of reach by another panicked student running past me. One was called over and over, more so than the rest. I knew the name. I knew the voice. At the same time I didn't know either. I was too focussed on pushing people out of my way to really absorb anything else. My eyes darted everywhere, catching a glimpse of every panicked face that fled by me, but there was only one I wanted to see.

Or, in some ways, didn't want to see.

Not like this.

Maybe it was because I'd only ever seen him smiling, or at least content, that seeing his face twisted in terror was so agonizing. I had to stop for a moment, to really remember who he was. He was the little boy in the Great Hall with the black toque and the big child like eyes and the simple smile. It took a minute to connect that boy with the scared child being held by the throat by a dementor.

I don't know how I got close enough to punch it, but I wish I hadn't. For a moment, while I was off my guard, I must have thought the thing was human, because my mind only started working again at the feeling of excruciating pain that assaulted my body from my knuckles. My knuckles throbbed and bled from punching the dementor where its throat should have been but where there was only solid bone. With my sense of logic back I was ready to make a good decision on my next move. And I decided to punch it again.

It hurt my fists so bad without having any real effect on the creature, but it wanted to take Hector away. And if I could get it mad enough at me to want to take me away I could get it to release Hector for the split second it would take to grab him and run.

So I kept trying. I thrashed out at it pointlessly. Its jaw, its shoulders, its chest. Everything felt like it was just bone underneath the tattered cloak. Thankfully, I'd torn my flesh on its collarbone when its arm moved. If I had had my fist in its shoulder I wouldn't have seen the slight movement that gave me a head start. Blink and you would've missed it. But I saw it. And it was all that gave me time to dive out of reach of its hand before it lashed out at me. Hector was hard to pull down with me and, when I saw the blood on my hand, I knew why. The dementor had freed a hand from his throat with which to grab me but kept the other hand on his shoulder. The strong boney hand had ripped the flesh under his robes to shreds. I didn't have time to feel guilty before a stray piece of the dementor's cloak brushed the back of my neck.

"Run!" I yelled forcefully to Hector.

I didn't look back to see if the dementor was following us. I only looked forward. Many people dotted the halls, trying to get back to their common rooms. Many more were still behind us, trapped on the pitch or looking for loved ones. I was too busy half dragging half carrying Hector's shaken body to who knows where. If he was capable of walking on his own I didn't care. I didn't want to let him go. It was more for me than it was for him.

"Where to go?" never really crossed my mind. It was really just, "GO." When I threw myself into a door on the right of the corridor I didn't have a clue where I was. I had to take a second to register my surroundings, and even then I only took in what could be absorbed rapidly. Walls. Windows. Smaller walls. Counters. Faucets. The room itself remained nameless.

I kept on pulling Hector with me, though by now I was sure he could walk and there was much less urgency to the whole thing. It was comforting to hold on to him. Well, for me at least. I never actually asked him what he thought about it. When we got to the counter I put my hands around his chest and hoisted him up to onto the counter between two sinks. I got the cold water running then randomly started splashing it on his shoulder. It took a few tries to realize that wasn't doing anything and I started taking off the layers of his clothes that came with the school uniform; the cloak, the sweater, the tie, the shirt, he even wore a cotton T-shirt underneath it all. This I just rolled out of my way then laughed. "Don't you get hot in all this?" I panted. It was supposed to be funny so I tried to laugh, but that quickly became too straining. He was far better at sustaining a grin.

"Don't you get cold?"

I gave another quick smile, this time with eye contact, and quickly returned to washing out his injury again. Thankfully, because of the way we moved away from the dementor, the wound wasn't deep but it still wasn't good. No wound ever is.

I'm not going to pretend I'm medically adequate. I'm not. I wasn't then either. I knew how to keep yourself from getting wounded in sports, and how to temporarily fix minor sport wound so you can still play, but that's usually along the lines of "If there's tension here stretch this muscle and see a medic later", nothing that ever involved large amounts of blood. I was, however, aware of the same basic knowledge that if you lose enough blood you'll pass out and eventually die. We had to get his shoulder to stop bleeding somehow. I stopped splashing water all over him to look down at his pile of clothes. Most were either too dirty or too sweaty to put on an open wound, even temporarily. I looked at Hector again and strained myself to put on a face that looked even vaguely relaxed and comforting.

"You know, I hear Quidditch is usually a pretty violent sport." This wasn't supposed to be funny, but a smile ebbed onto his face. I think he just wanted to smile again. I undid the drawstrings and whipped my Quidditch robe off, holding it out by the hood for him. "I'm sure the house elves have dealt with a little blood before." He genuinely smiled at that, and I smiled back, though my reflection in the mirror was much emptier. While he held the hood of the robe to his shoulder I rinsed my hands under the running tap water. They were bloodied up quite badly, and it was impossible that all my fingers were still in one piece. For future reference, reader; never pick a fist fight with a dementor. Once they were well rinsed I hopped up onto the counter beside Hector, my pelvis falling into the sink, and dried my hands on the hem of my cloak, pressing them together to try and stop the flow of blood. I cringed. I could feel my own bones.

Wiping the look of disgust from my face I looked up at him again. "You need to get to the Hospital Wing, before it gets worse." Hector shook his head. Not fully getting his point, I said sarcastically, "You _want it _to get worse?" He giggled and shook his head again. Then he looked up at me. His smile was in his eyes now.

"I want to get to know Audrey."

This was a little shocking. Partly because people don't usually _want_ to know me, mostly because I thought we already knew each other. Reviewing everything I knew about Hector in my head I realized I didn't really know anything about him. Acquaintanceship started to seem worrisome. What if I didn't like Hector after I knew him better? Or, the more likely option was, what if he didn't like me? I'm not that appealing to begin with, I see to that myself, but on the inside? I couldn't recall anyone who knew me that well. I was worried that I might lose what I thought to be my only real friend when I realized most people hate or fear me at first glance. Hector didn't. He must being seeing something in me that no one else has. Not even me, for I've always found my reflection monstrous. And that wasn't aesthetically. I hated the expression on my face. It was repulsive. Just as it was supposed to be.

In spite of my unspoken worries we decided to take turns asking each other questions. One question at a time and you can't ask yours until you've answered theirs. It started off simple;

He'd say "What's your favorite color?" to which I'd say, "Navy."

I'd say "What do you do in your spare time?" to which he'd say "Art. What do you do?"

"Sports, mostly." I thought smoking would be inappropriate to add. "What kinds of art?"

"Drawing. What kinds of sports?"

"Mostly Quodpot and baseball back home. Quidditch here. I did a little street hockey and soccer, too." It felt safe to admit to playing muggle sports to him. "Can I see any of your drawings?"

"Later," he laughed. This seemed like something he was awfully proud of that he wanted to make me wait for. Then he looked straight at me. "What's your family like?"

This was abrupt. I hadn't expected the 'F' word to come up like that. I looked away, only to be faced with my own loathsome expression, and had to find something else to focus on. I hesitated, staring into my lap. Without looking up at him I said, "I—I don't have a family."

He wouldn't take this. "Everyone has family. What happened to yours-?"

"One question at a time, Hector!" I felt terrible about snapping at him the moment I'd done it. I looked back at my lap again as though it might hide my shame. After my anger, at myself as much as at him, cooled off I mumbled, "What's your family like?" It was all I could think of. I shouldn't have asked it.

"Great," he said. You could hear in his voice that he was still smiling. I was beginning to wonder whether or not it was humanly possible to smile in the kind of situations Hector smiles in. "My Mom's a librarian and my Dad's a painter. They've both had to start working in shops since the war, though, but they both like it. They work together in a bookstore. They're only allowed to take inventory at the back because they're apparently 'too happy for all the wrong reasons' to work in the actually store, so they don't make a lot of money, but we're all really happy anyway."

Yeah. Just rub it in. Show off what I missed out on. But that was unfair of me to think about him. He was happy and content with his family. I was happy and content… well, maybe just content… with my lack of family. There was no reason for me to envy him.

I braced myself for another question about my family but instead he asked, "Why are you so mean to people?" Usually I would have been offended by the accusation, but there wasn't much worse he could ask after the family question and I didn't take it very hard. Besides, it was true. I answered him honestly.

"No one wants to hang around a mean person. I don't really want people hanging around me. What's so important about your hat?"

"It keeps my head warm." That's not as much of an emotional attachment as I thought he had to it. "Why don't you want people around you?"

I was going to have to have some serious wit to come up with a question that would make him as uncomfortable as he was making me. "Because if you let people get too close to you they can hurt you." What was I teaching this kid? I knew the answer to that: only what he'd learn the hard way. "What's your favorite class?" Pathetic. I know. But it was all I could think of.

"Potions."

"Huh, maybe you could tutor me," I said, trying to regain my sense of humor. It wasn't that convincing though.

"Do you not want me around you?"

"Of course I want you around me. Actually I wish I could be around you more…"

"Why?"

I had to think about that. After thirteen years of only wishing to see people less, why was it that I suddenly wished I could see Hector more? At last I had to answer honestly, "I don't know."

My mind was still too fogged with the question for me to conjure one of my own. I sat there pondering for a moment until Hector broke the silence. "I know why."

I looked at him, intent on hearing the answer that I couldn't find. "Because you know that everyone's going to make you suffer. You just haven't figured out yet who's worth suffering for."

Temptation to laugh in the way people always do when a kid does something uncharacteristically smart was overcome by the wisdom of the words. I stared at him, awestruck for a moment, to let the suggestion sink in. There was no debating it was a wise thing to say, there was definitely some debating whether or not it could have come from the mind of an eleven year old. I let the accusation slide and gave him a teasing smirk. "How did you get so smart?"

He gave me a grin of mock pride and we figured our 'getting-to-know-ya' game was up. The signal that we were finished? Our blood was seeping through my Quidditch robe. And, as normal as we tried to act, there was no hiding the paleness in our faces. "Come on," I said. "Let's get to the Hospital Wing before they only let me wear this robe for the Christmas Eve games." He laughed. I'd have to keep in mind that he found my blood related jokes humorous. It was probably just coincidental, though. We slid down off the counter and tried to redress Hector the best we could without letting our makeshift bandage off either of our wounds. His arm only went into one sleeve of his shirt and sweater so that we could keep the robe on the other. We came up with the idea that we could tie his tie around his arm to hold the robe in place the whole way to the Hospital Wing. Once it was on it was so secure and convenient that we immediately wished we'd thought of it sooner. It didn't matter that there was no tie for me. With injuries on the knuckles and backs of my hands I would have had to tie my hands tightly back to back with my piece of robe in between them, which wouldn't have felt at all comfortable. Besides, with the dementors around, I didn't want anything restricting my hands in case I needed them. Instead I kept them in fists pressing against each other for the walk upstairs.

Mind you, we didn't really get upstairs.

About halfway up the first flight we came to there were two Death Eaters coming down the stairs toward us. We didn't have time to wonder if they were friends or enemies, they were enemies. We knew because the moment they saw us one of them stunned Hector. It was a strong spell, much stronger than necessary for such a young target in the best of times let alone one who's been bleeding all morning. The force of the spell that sent him to the floor ripped the robe from between my hand.

"Hey!" I yelled as they walked briskly passed me towards Hector. His body was weak from the shoulder wound and a simple stunning spell made him pass out completely. He was helpless, susceptible to whatever they wanted to do with him. "Hey, leave him alone, he needs a healer!" They walked passed me like I wasn't even there. I turned around to follow them, hoping that I could do something, but, even though my arms were free, there wasn't enough blood in them to do much of anything. I started to panic again. They were going to do anything they wanted to do to Hector. The thought was awful. Seeing them lean over to touch him, take off the bandage we'd made and lift him by the back of his clothes. This image is what made my fatigue much less important. "Don't touch him!" I shouted as I tried to throw myself onto the man who was lifting Hector off the floor. Instead I threw myself into what felt like the iron boot of the other. I fell pathetically to the floor, like a bird that hit an open window. The man with Hector was hardly standing up, and the hem of Hector's muddy robe was still kissing the floor. "Hey, what are you doing to him?" I tried to say it forcefully, but it came out as more of a whine in my fatigued state. Propping myself up on my hand and reaching for the hem for his robe hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as the thought of what they might be ready to do to him after so casually stunning him in the hall.

The robe moved out of my reach and my eyes moved out of focus. I probably would have passed out at that moment if the Death Eater standing over me hadn't answered my question. "He comes from a family of blood traitors. If they don't make it through trial, the lot of 'em will be going to Azkaban—"

If he had anything else to say, I didn't want to hear it.

"HECTOR!"

The scream burst from my body with a new rush of adrenaline and horror. As I ran after him I thought about what was going to happen to him if they proved him guilty. What would it be like for him to grow up in a place like that, how it would ruin him…

"HECTOR!"

My fight was pitiful at best. All I really did was grabbing onto the Death Eaters robes and held on. But I held on as hard as I could. I even bit the wrist that was holding up Hector's lower legs, causing him to be half dropped. I threw myself under the Death Eater's arm to grab Hector by the waist and run when someone grabbed me from behind. I kicked and scratched and generally lashed out to try to get away but someone grabbed my legs and held them tightly below the knees. There were too many arms for there to be only one of them holding me down. They put their weight on my back, chest, and head to keep me on the floor while Hector's captor took him away. I struggled, desperately trying to get up, but the strategically placed weight of two fully grown men is difficult enough to compete with before you drain thirty percent of the blood in your body out through your hands. All I could do was wiggle around under their crushing weight and scream, hoping that might accomplish something.

It didn't.

Hector was gone.

The two men didn't just insist on escorting me back to the common room they insisted on carrying me back. One held me under the arms the other under the knees so I descended the stairs at an awkward diagonal to the floor. Every once and a while I'd start kicking or spitting again in the hopes that they might drop me. When they did I started bolting back the way we came, but it was never any good. Usually they just stood there waiting for me to trip over my own feet on the way down the stairs, then came to pick me up when I lay face down on the floor.

After Hector had disappeared they'd sloppily bandaged my hands in a way that kept my thumbs tacked down with the rest of my fingers. This was probably more to bind me than to heal me.

When we arrived at the door to the Slytherin common room, marked by a painting of the student Slytherin was most famous for teaching, Merlin, they said the password to make the painting move aside and threw me through the door like I was a sack of flour. Demeaning as it was to be thrown in such a manner into a room full of your peers, who already didn't like you, I insisted on demeaning myself more. I sat up; facing the door they'd slammed shut behind me. Then, once I was sure they were gone, I threw the whole weight of my body at the door, naturally expecting it to move at the slightest touch, as usually. It didn't budge. Surprised and unwilling to take no for an answer, especially from a door, I repeated the action of slamming myself against what was now as good as a wall, not even suspecting that I was being stared at until Robert stood up and grabbed my arm to keep me from running into it again.

"Stop it," he ordered. "You're going to hurt yourself."

I tore my arm from his grasp, still dizzy from the blood loss, and was preparing a snappy comeback when I noticed the rest of my spectators. I looked at them dumbly, then, because their opinion of me wasn't low enough, I said, "The door won't open."

"Really?" said Eleanora in a cruelly sarcastic tone. "We just figuring this out now are we?"

I stumbled forward, intending to launch myself at Eleanora and strangle her, but ended up landing on my foot the wrong way and having to grab onto Robert for support. Pulling myself back up into a self sustaining position I was able to observe the general atmosphere of the room. The first years looked as nervous as I felt. Everyone else looked confused, but didn't really seem to care. Clearly I was missing something.

"What the hell is going on here?" I demanded.

"Other than you making a fool of yourself?" Eleanora beamed.

"Save it, bitch," I growled then looked over the rest of them, hoping for a proper answer. No one was volunteering one. Fine. "Scarlett?" She looked a bit apprehensive at being addressed like that by me. But, despite her flaws, Scarlett could always be counted on to give you some sort of an answer.

"Well, I don't actually know, but from what I've _heard_—" That wasn't much of a surprise, what has she ever said that she didn't hear through the grape vine? "—there were a lot of heresy accusations recently. The Ministry says that they're cracking down on that sort of thing. The dementors would be here in the school to fetch the kids accused of being blood traitors."

"And stuff like this happens often?"

She shook her head. "Never. They always come at night and take them in their sleep. Never in the day. And never in such a crowd."

"Then why would they do this now?"

"Obviously," spat Eleanora, "because they let too many blood traitors into the school this year." It didn't take a genius to know her eyes were boring through me as she said this.

"You don't have to be scared of the dementors, though," said Carbrey from his low arm chair on my right. "They don't come after us." As he said this he lifted his left hand and started stroking my wrist. Strangely this was what calmed me down after all that had happened, but not in the traditional way.

"Carbrey," I said in the most relaxed tone I'd used in hours, "if you ever touch me again I will claw your eyeballs out."

He looked shocked at the threat. I didn't care how he felt though. His hand was still on my wrist, so a whipped it up to his face and put the tips of my bandaged fingers against his eyelid. They'd hardly brush his face when he rapidly sank into the chair, trying to stay out of my range. Some people found it humorous and let out small bursts of laughter. I didn't think it was funny at all, and I gave the group a general look of hate. Silence took over.

Then the least likely person to break the silence did exactly that.

"How do we know we're safe?" asked Astoria.

She'd always been off in her own seemingly depressing world when I was around. Apparently she used to be as social as any of the rest of us, but I couldn't see it. The point she was making now, though, was pretty gutsy and blatantly honest. "How do we know the dementors won't come after us? They attacked Aster."

"That was an accident," Eleanora argued.

"You're not dumb, Eleanora, so stop acting like it," snapped Eireen Berne. "No one on the ground thought it was an accident. A second year from Ravenclaw even called them out on it and the Death Eaters dragged him off. That basically proved it."

"Maybe he was a blood—"

Neil made a point of cutting Eleanora off before she could start that one. Everyone on the Quidditch team knew he had a lame little crush on her and wouldn't want her to look stupid. "It's not impossible. They've punished Quidditch players before by making it look like an accident."

"But what's he being punished for?" ask third year Morna Beattie.

"He must be a blood—!" Eleanora began, with Neil cutting her off, then me cutting Neil off.

"No, I think she's right this time." I recalled how high in the air Aster had been when he fell, the way he'd fallen head first, and the angle his neck had landed on. "That fall was meant to kill. If it didn't, they'll have the matron make it look like it did. Anyone got a better reason they'd want him dead?"

Silence.

At first it was a silence of disbelief, at the thought that the Death Eaters would actually kill one of us. Then a silence of focus, wondering why they'd done. Lastly a silence of mourning, as everyone realized he wasn't coming back.

This time the silence wasn't broken from within the room, but from outside it. The door to Slytherin common room opened and three people entered: one had a hooked nose and unwashed hair; Headmaster Snape; one had a long tan face and short black hair; Nathaniel Raine; the last, a woman, I didn't recognize. She had frizzy black hair with wefts of grey in it pulled into a messy ponytail on the side of her head, a pale face, and wide hysterical eyes. Next to her Snape's hair looked immaculate. Her arms were around Nathaniel, who entered with his head down, guiding him into the room. "Don't worry, dear," she whispered in a voice that should have been comforting but was about as much so as a teddy bear carrying a knife. "You did the right thing." Then she turned around without acknowledging the rest of us, laughed maniacally, and skipped out into the hall, the door swinging shut beside her.

"As you know," began Snape, when he was sure he had our full attention. "The Ministry has some business to conduct in the castle therefore students are expected to remain in their dormitories until further notice. Any students seen outside their dormitories during this time will be subject to severe punishment."

And that's just the way Snape was. Drop some big news on us in a boring monotone then exit with a swoosh of his cape. But I didn't have time to mope over how much I didn't like Snape.

As if the slamming of the door queued his legs to stop working Nathaniel collapsed and started shaking uncontrollably. Two of his classmates, Roderick and Monica, rushed to comfort him. But no matter how much they patted him on the back and whispered soothingly in his ear his sobs kept getting louder and louder. Finally Melina Kinnairde, a second year, got up and crotched in front of the sorry crowd. "What happened?" she asked. The only indication that Nathaniel had even tried to answer was the fact that Melina asked, "Pardon?" The sobs and the carpet muffled the sound quite well. The second time I thought I heard something that resembled coherent language. After Melina asked him a third time, we all heard him.

"Th-Theodore!" he wailed.

The chaos of the dementor attack came rushing back to me. There'd been a name called almost constantly. I'd known the voice, I'd known the name, but I hadn't taken the time to comprehend the sound. Nathaniel's cry brought it to the forefront of my memory. "Theo! Theo! Theodore!" It had been Nathaniel, calling for his brother, who I'd seen at the Sorting. They stood together, but looked embarrassed, almost ashamed of one another.

Finding out what had happened to the Raine twins became a priority of the Slytherin students. The whole process consisted of much sobbing, moving around, rephrasing of questions, and far too much useless frustration to be worth noting here, so I'll just relay the final story:

The Raines' parents were underground opposers of Voldemort. During both of his uprisings they would house muggleborns in a secret room until they could find a permanent place to stay far from the war. Theodore was in strong support of the cause and even brought muggleborns and their families home like stray cats. Nathaniel felt violated, he didn't like having strangers in his house, and did everything in his power to discourage his family from continuing the practice, including shunning his brother. The two grew rapidly apart. After Voldemort won the family scrambled to get the last of their foster family out of the country, the last of which was scheduled to leave the following weekend. When they were welcomed into the Raines' home they were instructed to bring as few belongings as they could. The last one living with them only had a couple photos, which he kept on his person, and a change of clothes. While he was out of the house an anonymous tip about a suspicious person coming and going at the Raines' was sent into the Ministry and a search was conducted. They found the muggle clothes, but that could hardly be called proof. They were kept in a drawer with Theodore's clothes, for the very reason that it would look less suspicious if they were searched, but they couldn't have prevented the Ministry from wanting to convict them so badly. When a blood traitor is discovered the whole family is arrested, but everyone quite liked Nathaniel. To me he was like a small Eleanora with a flat chest, always calling people out on acts of heresy and rule breaking. So the Ministry compromised. They agreed that Nathaniel would be immune to all charges if he agreed to torture a confession out of his brother. Of course he would do it. He was such a little brat, always doing what was in his best interest at the time. And this was a great opportunity to follow through on all the threats he'd given his brother in the past five years. At first he felt empowered. But when Theodore didn't resist the torture Nathaniel started getting uneasy. He finally saw what he was doing was wrong, that he hadn't actually been calling Theodore to his own aid. He'd been crying for _Theodore's _safety, not his own. Seeing Theodore take this torture for his sake was heart breaking, but the fear that if he couldn't go through with the torture the horrible woman watching him would renounce her offer overrode his shame at what he was doing. With every aim of his wand he felt like he was sinking lower and lower, until he was a creature unworthy of pride.

By the end of it Nathaniel was sitting on the low backed leather couch with Roderick and Monica on either side of him and Melina standing guard behind him. His head was in his hands and he was rocking back and forth. A quick look around the common room told me that even the most heartless of the Slytherins were looking uneasy. I was sitting on a table in the corner, feeling exhausted, staring at the paper weight the first years had been trying to levitate a month before.

"Mrs. Lestrange was right, Nathaniel," whispered Eleanora in what I assumed was meant to be a comforting voice. "You did do the right thing. What your brother and parents did was a felony. You shouldn't worry. They're not going to hurt you. You're one of us, you're the _right_—"

_KA-SHH!_

The paper weight hit the far wall of the common room and shattered. All thoughts of exhaustion were lost.

"Can we all stop pretending that we're safe?" I yelled. Faces of shock turned toward me. "They only treat us well because we play the part! How do you think they'd treat us if we fought behind _Harry Potter_?"

It had been a rhetorical question, but Kentigern said, "We'd be no better than the Gryffindors."

"We _are _no better than the Gryffindors," I corrected. "Don't tell me that every one of you honestly believes in what the Death Eaters have been preaching to you? How long have you had to pretend to be someone you're not? I'm as much as Slytherin as all of you, and I think that over half the stuff that comes out of Voldemort's mouth is bullshit! You can't tell me that I'm the only one who thinks that!"

People all around me jumped when I said his name. Some even started lecturing me on it. But most everyone got my point. Even Eleanora was obviously struggling to find stable grounds on which she could dispute my argument.

Someone else found them for her.

"So what if we don't agree with what they're doing? What do you suggest we do about it?"

Wilmer made a strong point. What could we do about it? The answer was a lot clearer in my mind than it sounded on my lips.

"We fight back."

Some people tried to brush this off as a bad joke and laughed at me. Soon they saw the seriousness in my face and frowned with the rest of them.

"You mean… fight the Death Eaters?" Alwyn asked.

"No." At this point I was speaking first and thinking later. "We can't fight the Death Eaters like this. We need to get rid of our rallying point. If we want to stand a chance we have to kill Voldemort."

I think they were more terrified at the casualness of the implication rather than the implication itself.

"Kill the Dark Lord?" Wilmer exclaimed. "Why don't we all just jump off the Astronomy Tower? Seems like that'd be a lot faster."

At first I agreed with him. What I was suggesting was outrageous, probably brought on by a concussion from my many falls down the stairs that day and I should just go to bed and forget the whole ordeal. But the more I insisted it could not be done, the more I believed it could. There was definitely a need to use logic in the way I spoke, but whether it was the fatigue or the adrenaline I kept talking without thinking.

"Why does it have to be suicide? If anyone's going to bring this empire down it's us. The Death Eaters are too close to him to put a toe out of line. Everyone else is too far away to reach him. We can—"

"_We_?" Wilmer stood up, stern and enraged. "If you want to throw your life away, I'm not going to stop you, but don't drag us into it. _ We_ aren't doing anything."

"Of course you won't do anything," I said as I crossed the room into the thick of the crowd. Usually I was quite proud of myself for saying only what was necessary and nothing more, but, whether it was the fatigue or the drive that had been instilled in me when I saw them taking Hector from me, I couldn't stop the words from flowing out. "Why would I expect you to do anything, why would _any of you_ to do _anything_? It's all we've ever done, isn't it? Sit around, not doing anything. That's all any one of us has ever done, that's all anyone who's ever been Sorted into this _stupid_ house has ever done! We're supposed to be the Slytherins! We're supposed to be defined by our _ambition_; an ability to see a future that others say is impossible and instead say 'that's mine'. Yet the greatest ambition any one of you has is to be Voldemort's _dog_. To live in the shadow of your parents and make all the same mistakes. Where's the glory in that?"

I didn't care what they thought anymore. I'd said everything that I'd been thinking about them since I first arrived at Hogwarts and was too tired to hear their reaction. All I wanted to do was go to bed and await Eleanora and Wilmer to report my act of heresy. My foot was hardly hovering above the first step to the girls' dorms when a small voice called me back.

"Where do we start?"

I turned around, like everyone else in the room, surprised. Nathaniel's face was tearstained and reddened but he was no longer sobbing. He was looking at me with an intense focus that I hadn't thought him capable of.

After my failure to respond, he repeated, "Where do we start? To kill him?"

I hadn't made the suggestion in my right mind. Something had come over me. I never expected anyone to take me up on the idea. I tried to display this by staring at him blankly.

"We can't kill him," said Morna. Her assumption was surprisingly met by many cynical and sceptical glares. She noticed, and got a bit defensive. "It's just that… the prophecy… it said Harry Potter was the only person who'd be able to kill the Dark Lord."

"Do we really know that's what it said? Our teachers are all Death Eaters. They'd want us to think he couldn't be killed, even if he could," suggested Alwyn.

"But I'm sure there was a prophecy," countered Cefin. "They talked about it all the time during the war, both sides did."

"That doesn't mean that it said what Morna thinks it did," replied Robert.

Suddenly everyone was talking at once and it was giving me a headache. Clearly I couldn't go to bed until I finished what I'd started. "Look," I yelled. Everyone went quiet. "If we're going to pulls this off everyone has got to be on board, no stragglers." I was looking straight at Eleanora when I said this and she knew it.

"I don't want to have anything to do with you blood traitors," she scowled.

"You don't have to," I responded. "You and Wilmer and anyone else who doesn't want a part in this can stay out. Just agree not to rat us out and if you get accused of anything, we'll vouch for you. We'll say we cursed you into doing it. You won't get in trouble."

"We won't get in trouble if we tell on you, either," came Lucinda. She was already standing and heading for the door.

"Sit down," I ordered. "If it won't open for me it won't open for you. We're stuck here, together. Imagine what that'd be like if it was just you three." My eyes darted between her, Wilmer, and Eleanora. Lucinda glared at me and moved back to her seat, arms crossed over her chest. "Anyone else wanna go?" Everyone was still. "Good, 'cause I wanna go to bed.

"Now, we can't fight Voldemort if we keep fighting amongst ourselves about who we're up against. We need information. Does anybody know anything about him for sure?"

Nothing.

"Alright. That seems like a pretty good place to start, then. We need to know exactly what that stupid prophecy said, for starter."

"And we should see if we can find out what Potter knew," suggested Eireen. "He spent the last year of the war running around Britain in search of something. He must have had some sort of a lead."

"Great, so prophecy, Potter… any other ideas?" I asked.

"We should try to make alliances with the other houses," said Melina, "for numbers."

"But we can't contact them," Roderick reminded her.

"If we're clever enough we should be able to, someday. Mean while, we should all try to be a little kinder to them so they'll trust us when we do ask them for help," said Glenn

"Not all at once, though," said Robert. "If we're all suddenly nice to the other kids it'll look suspicious. We have to do it gradually. Start by not pushing them in the halls." This made Wilmer look rather uncomfortable.

"What about meetings?" asked Neil.

"With the other houses?" said Kentigern.

"Amongst ourselves, for now," Neil replied.

"We can meet here for now," I said. "Late at night, so there's no chance of anyone walking in on us."

"Should we meet here tomorrow?" asked Jill.

I nodded. "Yeah, between now and then we should all try to think of ways to get information on Harry Potter and the prophecy without rousing suspicion. And how to contact the others." Everyone seemed satisfied with that, save for the obvious exceptions, and we adjourned our first unofficial meeting. Before anyone could leave, though, Scarlett spoke out again. She insisted that we needed to have a name. Something that would give unity and purpose to our rebel group, but also one that we could use outside of the common room. The answer came from Astoria as she passed me to go up stairs to bed.

"That's easy," she said. "We're Dumbledore's Army."


	5. The Reunited

Dumbledore's Army.

A group of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff students that band together to protect their school from the Death Eaters. It had been founded by Harry Potter initially to teach his fellow students how to fight. Later, after Potter left the school, it became one of two resistance movements against Voldemort. The other one was the Order of the Phoenix. The members of the Order were much older than the members of the Army. They'd been around during the first war and were easier for the Death Eaters to track down and kill before they became too much trouble. They didn't see the Army coming. It rose up from beneath their feet and took them by surprise. They were quick, stealthy, and unstoppable. Sure, the Death Eaters knew they'd been there before. But they never expected them to come back without Potter. Only after Potter died did the Army die with him, and even then there were the ones who tried to keep fighting.

Astoria was right. She hadn't suggested that we call ourselves Dumbledore's Army. She'd said that we _were _Dumbledore's Army. We were the students that would rise up when no one thought we could and we would fight to bring back our freedom.

The thought of naming our cause after a single person, one I'd never known and did not respect, wasn't my favorite idea. But it was the best idea. Everyone in all the other houses knew the name "Dumbledore's Army". Some even reacted to the initials D.A. It was perfect. The only problem was going to be using a name that the Death Eaters recognised as being the enemy. If we were discrete enough, though, having a pre-established name would work greatly in our favor as we tried to rally the other students. It'd be a way of informing them that we're on their side, and would give us a chance to pick out the ones willing to follow us.

We decided that we would split up and try to contact the other houses in groups; the fifth years would contact the Ravenclaws, the sixth years would contact the Hufflepuffs, and the seventh years would get the Gryffindors. We only needed to show one person from each house what we were up to and they would likely bring up the subject with the rest of their Housemates.

It was decided that the seventh years would take Gryffindor, or, rather, _I _would take them, because Connor had mentioned the D.A. to me. I guess I broke my promise about not telling Scarlett Bagley. Anyway, it was a plan. All the others in my class would try their best to get me as close to Connor as they could without rousing suspicion.

We had no idea how to get details out to the other Houses after we got them on our side, but before we could think about that there was an even greater problem at hand: the other Houses had disappeared.

The lock on the door to Slytherin common room was released Tuesday morning. There was an escort waiting outside our door to take us to breakfast as there was each morning. He never liked me, always acting far too nice for it to be even remotely natural. That Tuesday morning he didn't even bother to hide it. He looked at me and scowled. His jaw was crooked. I'd never really noticed that we had the same guard everyday but, apparently, from the bruise where my elbow had fractured his jaw, we did. I scowled back, half blaming him for all the bad things that happened to Hector, then turned away, making a point of whipping him in the face with my hair, and stalked off with my nose in the air.

Approaching the Great Hall we noticed that it was quieter than ever. There's never been any amount of chatter at this school but it was like there wasn't even a person breathing. In as sense there wasn't. As we entered the Hall the room seemed terribly large. Larger than usual. There were only two tables. The table behind which all the staff sat, and running up the middle of the room was a sole students' table. The seas parted and we went up either side of the table and sat down on the benches looking expectantly at Headmaster Snape for an answer. None came.

We weren't being discrete. Imagine everyone at your school just got up and left. Whether you like them, hate them, pretend to like them, or pretend to hate them, you're going to notice that. After our food appeared and Snape started in on a plate of eggs we knew we wouldn't get our answer and we, too, tuckered down into some breakfast.

Classes weren't much better. It was just as empty then as it had been in the morning. I felt a little insecure not having Connor around during Dark Arts to give me a reassuring nod when the magic got hard. I tried to liken this to the fact that I promised the other Slytherins I'd contact him and his not being there was holding up my mission but, really, I just missed him. No such luck in any of the other classes, either. It was like the other students just fell off the face of the earth. On the way down to potions I listened closely for any sign that the Gryffindors were in their common room, but all I could hear was the sound of our own feet marching and the dripping of water from a crack in the ceiling.

Had they arrested every person in each House? They do arrest entire families for one member's act of blood traitorship. Could they arrest an entire House like that, too? If so, we had lots to worry about. Not only the fact that they could find out what we've been talking about and arrest all of us, but we were no good on our own. We needed the outside support. Without the other Houses we just didn't have the numbers to do anything. And what if the Death Eaters knew it? What if they'd over heard every word of our conversations and pulled the other students to render us useless? They couldn't easily go after us; they relied on our parents' support.

Worries that the other Houses weren't coming back were avoided. The next day the Ravenclaw seventh years filed into potions class, late, with three escorts waiting outside for them. Usually they behaved well enough to only need the one escort. I was itching with curiosity. I wanted to approach them with my questions, but that wouldn't help anyone. All I could do was observe them and try to make connections.

They'd been tortured. All of them. Each had a new set of severe scars and bruises running up and down their faces. Even those who looked relatively untouched were shivering, their eyes blurry and unfocused. Any number of them dropped the ingredients they pulled from the storage cabinet for no apparent reason, then shook and fumbled to pick them up again. Lunch was the same sort of sight. There were now three tables in the Great Hall. The Ravenclaw table had returned and was lined with more sorry faces. Hildred Salomon burst into tears with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. The only reason that this was worth noting was because she was the first. Many of them sobbed uncontrollably, but tried to stay sitting up straight and eat as though nothing out of the ordinary as going on.

All of our other classes were still only half full. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs remained missing. The next day at lunch I was disappointed to see the Hufflpuffs were still absent, then reminded myself that even when the Hufflepuffs came back Hector wouldn't. They'd taken him from me for the last time and all I could hope for was that I could over throw Voldemort before Azkaban ruined him completely. Or, at least, so I thought.

The following Monday we entered the Great Hall for lunch and saw only two students' tables, the Slytherins' and the Ravenclaws'. Halfway through my broccoli casserole, though, I saw a third table. It was being lifted into the Great Hall on the shoulders of the beaten and bloody Hufflepuffs. I didn't want to look at them. It was too painful to think about not seeing Hector there with them, even in such a state. They set the table down and their meal appeared on it. They weren't given any extra time to eat. They'd had only enough time to gulp down a glass of water and a forkful of food before being ordered to class. They had five escorts, dragging them out of the seats and slapping their hands when they tried to cling to more food. They looked so pale and so thin I wondered if they'd been starved. They were organized with the first years in the front and directed out of the room. The closest one to me looked on the verge of dying. He could have been black, white, or Asian under his colorful bruises and he had to hold his hands in tight fists to keep them from shaking. He walked with slouched shoulders and his hair was matted with blood, but what surprised me most about him was that there was a shine in his tired eyes and a smile on his bleeding lips…

"Hector!" I screamed with joy. I couldn't help myself. He looked up at me just in time to see me throw my arms around him. He was weak. He couldn't take the force of me throwing myself at him and, frankly, my legs were shaking with so much delight that I couldn't hold the two of us up. We wiped out, rolling over the toes of Betsy Quiggs, and lay on the stone floor holding each other.

"I'm so glad your okay," I told him. The sound was muffled in his shoulder.

He didn't reply in words, I did hear him sniff, and sat up to see him lying beside me, crying. I thought about how tender his body must be from everything they'd done to him and started to panic. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" I asked.

He shook his head, still lying on the floor with tears dripping off his face. "Audrey could never hurt me," he whispered. "I'm just so happy to see you."

I laughed, not really intending to do so. I just wanted an excuse not to cry.

There was so much I wanted to ask him, but I couldn't do it here. I'd risked enough by pulling such a stunt as hugging a Hufflepuff. The staff wouldn't want me holding up the line much longer. But I needed to talk to him so, as I helped him up, I asked, "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" He nodded, obviously understanding what I really meant. I leaned in closer and said in a voice so small it couldn't even be called a whisper, "Eight o'clock." Then I kissed him on the cheek and rose right into the arms of my escort. His hand clamped down on me harshly, as the Hufflepuff escort's did on Hector, but they didn't have to drag us anywhere. We'd finished greeting each other and were walking back to where we belonged on our own. The escorts just kept their hands on us to make it look like they were doing something. Our escort stayed behind me with a hand on my shoulder as the Ravenclaws were marched out. This didn't bother me. I don't think anything could bother me now. I just finished off my lunch in a casual manner, and even offered the escort a half of my roll. I was trying to irritate him with an unwavering happiness more than I was trying to be generous.

When it was time for us to leave our escort held me back and made me stand beside him at the back of the group. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be a onetime thing. "Since we're gonna be hanging out a lot maybe you should tell me your name?" No response. Oh, well, I didn't care anyway.

We found out later that day that Quidditch was cancelled until further notice and they were confiscating all our brooms. Parents were concerned that letting the children fly was just an accident waiting to happen and it was only a matter of time before someone else lost their life like Aster. It didn't really matter; the game had been rather boring.

And that was the only event that day that could compare with my excitement bounding off to the bathroom by the kitchen enough to be worth noticing.

This particular bathroom was close to where the Hufflepuff dorms were so I guessed it'd be where Hector would show up. It took me a while to get down to the bathroom. I'd allotted myself fifteen minutes to get there and still showed up twenty minutes late. The number of close encounters I had with Death Eaters walking the halls suggested that they were upping security even around the Slytherin area. I found myself frequently ducking behind curtains and into classrooms and closets that could have contained anything. It was dangerous, but the sense of adventure was exhilarating. At the top of the stairs that lead to the main door I did one last scan of my surroundings, took off my shoes to reduce the noise and bolted down the stairs, around the corner, and through the door to the boys' bathroom. I panicked for a moment when I saw he wasn't there, then backed out and slipped into the girls' bathroom. I was about to slip out again, worried, when Hector stuck his head up over one of the stall walls.

"What are you doing in the girls' room?" I laughed.

"What were you doing in the boys' room?" he replied. I walked over to the stall he was in and opened the door to see that he was standing on the back of the toilet. When I came in he jumped down and started to leave. "Or should we stay in there?" he asked.

"No," I said. "If someone finds us we'll look a lot weirder sitting on the back of a toilet than beside the sink."

"Or in the sink," he pointed out.

I laughed. "Yeah, sitting in the sink might look a bit weird, too."

So we each took to either side of the sink and decided to slip our shoes and socks off and have a foot bath. We filled the sink with bubbly water and slipped our feet under. It was quite relaxing. We sat there laughing at ourselves for a minute, but we couldn't avoid the hard questions forever. "What happened to you, Hector?" I asked gently. He just shrugged and rubbed his feet. There was a gash in the bottom of his right foot.

"Mom and Dad were in trouble."

"I figured that," I said. "But what did they do? And how'd you get away?"

He shrugged again. "They didn't like some of the art they've done. Not being as anti-muggle as they're supposed to be."

"That seems like enough to get you into a lot of trouble."

Hector nodded. "It was, but they couldn't prove it. They tried to make me confess that Mom and Dad are blood traitors, but I wouldn't do it. And they couldn't prove that any of the paintings my dad had done were actually by him. He doesn't sign his work, you see. Any one they asked denied buying it from him. They had to let us go."

I was worried for him. No one should have to get tortured and interrogated like that, let alone an eleven year old boy. "You gonna be okay?" I asked. He nodded.

"Are you?"

The question was surprising. I hadn't been through half what he had. "Yeah, I'll be fine. They don't go after my type."

"That's not true. They killed Aster, right?"

_Damn that kid for being so smart_. "Right." What else could I say? Aster's death had been an accident? I may have been a pretty bad person but I was a bad liar. Being misleading wasn't a problem but lying straight out was hard. "Hector, there's something you should know." I felt bad telling him I was going to be safe. I wasn't. And I needed to admit it. I told him about what happened to the Raines and how everyone in Slytherin was so scared. I told him about my outburst and how we were going to try to kill Voldemort. Once I finished there was a moment of silence before Hector announced to his knees;

"I want to help."

"No," I said immediately. "No, I won't let you."

"Why?" said Hector. "Nathaniel and Roderick and some of the other first years are helping."

I hesitated. Usually with younger kids you could just say 'because I said so' and they'd do whatever you wanted. But they weren't usually as smart as Hector. I didn't really know what to say. Eventually I just told him, "I can't let you get hurt on my watch."

"Neither can I," he said.

"What can you do to keep me safe?" It was an honest question. He was eleven and suspected of traitorship. If it came down to life or death he'd be more of a handicap than an asset.

"Not keep you safe," he corrected, "keep you from getting hurt."

"What's the difference?" I sighed in frustration.

"The difference is, Audrey," he said sternly, "that what you're going to do is hard. Even I know that. Once you've started there's going to be no going back until either you kill him or he kills you. You have to go through with it till the end. You need somebody around who's going to make sure that you never give up. If you do, they'll do terrible things to you. I can't let them do that, Audrey." No matter how hard I tried I couldn't look away from him. It was hard to see him look so worried, so concerned. It was even harder to know he was worried about me. What he said next practically tore me apart. "You're my best friend, Audrey."

And there it was. He broke my heart. No one had ever called me their friend before. Being his best friend all of a sudden seemed like a pretty big commitment. The thing was I thought of him as my best friend, too. How could I tell him to back off now? I couldn't. I looked around the bathroom, hoping that the answer to all my woes was hiding behind a toilet or down a drain, but it wasn't. It was sitting in front of me. I looked at Hector and let out an uncomfortable laugh. There was water coating my eyes. Then I brushed back my veil of hair and said, shakily, "Come over here." I moved closer to the mirror, pushing myself right up against it, to make room for Hector to sit beside me. He slid around until he was sitting next to me where I could put my arms around him. He rested his head on my shoulder and we sat there, solemnly, with our feet in the sink.

I thought for a little while. About what Hector meant to me, about what friends meant to me, even a little bit about my family. I thought about what I was going to do with myself, what I was going to do about Voldemort, how I was going to pull it off, how it'd be easier to run away, or to have burned in that fire, or to have… I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that it took me a moment to realise the music was out of place. I shook myself out of my head and looked down at the boy in my arms. He was humming. I recognized the tune, but couldn't place it. "Where'd you hear that?" I asked.

"Mom sang if for me," he said.

"So there's words?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you know them?"

He nodded. Then he started sing very quietly;

_Come over here and rest a while  
Look at the trip you've made  
I know you must be tired by now  
So rest here in the shade  
On the journey you've had to make  
I've watched you bear the load  
But you can always stay at my place  
When you come off the road  
And if you ever need someone  
Count on me every time  
I'll be there to lay you down  
Because a rested body is a rested mind_

"That's a muggle song," I stated dreamily.

He nodded. "It's from a muggle play. About a wizard. Did you know that muggles write stories about us?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I did." I recalled seeing the posters around New York for shows and films about witches and wizards. Sometimes we were portrayed as good, other times as bad, most of the time as both. "Have you ever seen that play? _The Wiz_?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. Mom did, though. She loves muggle theatre."

"I bet she does," I said. I started wondering how someone who could recite a song from a muggle play, let alone one that misinterpreted magic, would survive the war long enough to get interrogated. Then I looked down at Hector. "Tell you what." He had to roll his eyes to look up at me through his lashes from the position he was in. "Someday, you and I are going to go see that show."

This made him pretty happy. "Can Mom come?"

"Of course she can," I smiled.

A few minutes later we dried our feet and put on our shoes, gave each other our goodbye hugs and snuck out of the bathroom to head for out dorms.

As I slid in between Death Eaters and ducked into abandoned classrooms and behind dusty curtains I thought about what I'd promised. I'd told him that I'd take him to see a musical. Not just any musical, but a musical made by muggles that depicted wizardkind in a way that no pureblood supremacist would ever approve of. The thought of it seemed impossible. And that's just what I needed. I needed something impossible to fight for. Even something small, like taking Hector to see that show, seemed big. But I could do it. I know I could.

Back in the common room they'd already started the D.A. meeting without me. A lot of them seemed pretty upset at my tardiness and demanded to know where I was. I saw no problem with telling them I was with Hector. "He's a friend. I was worried." They didn't seem pleased with that answer but they accepted that it's all they were getting.

"Did you think to ask him to talk to the other Huffles?" asked Lucinda, who wasn't really with us or against us. She just did what's popular.

"Yes, I thought of it," I replied. They caught onto the tone in my voice.

"Did you _ask_ him to talk to the other Huffles?" Glenn asked.

"No." I answered.

"Why not?" whined Cefin. "Would've saved the rest of us a lot of trouble if you'd just asked your stupid little friend a favor."

I leapt over the coffee table that separated me from him with every intention of making him sorry for calling Hector names, but Carbrey seized me by the shoulders before I could get at him.

"Says the one who lost his Quidditch position to a _girl_," I spat. Cefin hadn't liked me from the moment I took his spot on the team. It was the one thing that would get him wound up without failure, and he had to be held back from going at me by Neil and Alwyn. After we were released I made a point of poking Carbrey's eyelid, to which he flinched. He touched me again, and my threat was still withstanding.

"It doesn't matter that he's not talking to the Huffles," Eireen said. "We've already spoken to them."

"Could've said so earlier," I pointed out as I backed away from Carbrey. He wasn't as flirty with me now that we weren't on the Quidditch team together. He was actually being kind to me but I pretended he wasn't. I wanted to hate him.

"How'd you get to them?" asked Robert.

"Care of Magical Creatures," said Alwyn. "Turns out Neil's Porlock took a sudden fancy to Vivian Jean-Marr's." A smirk plastered across his face as he said this. Even I had to admit this was rather clever.

"How's Ravenclaw coming?" I asked.

Muir Delany shook his head. "Nothing. It's hard just getting them to look at us without doing anything out of the ordinary."

"But I did over hear Roy Dunn and Erskine Curran talking about asking their escort to take them to the library to prepare for their O.W.L.s. If they manage we could slip something into one of their books," Deanna Upton suggested.

"Sounds great and all," said Kentigern. "But what are we going to do once all these people know what we're up to? It's no good if we can't communicate with them. All we'll be able to do is sit around and wait for them to tell on us or slip up somehow."

"Do you think we should do this without the other houses?" asked Robert.

"Yes," answered Glenn. "Kent's right, if we can't communicate the other Houses will just be dead wait."

"But we can't do this without the other Houses," Morna stated. "We don't have the numbers without them."

"We won't have the numbers with them," Glenn countered.

"We could," said Robert. "I take Divination. They don't teach it properly anymore but they still have all the right equipment. I remember reading somewhere about how you can create a passage using two orbs to communicate with people in a different room. I doubt that book would still be around but if someone would help me steal some orbs I might be able to figure it out. Then—"

"—we just have to get the crystal balls to student in the other Houses," Eireen finished. "Robert, that's brilliant!"

I agreed. It was the perfect method for getting in touch with the others undetected. And all the other student had to do was keep their crystal ball in the trunk of one of the Divination students, free of suspicions.

We adjourned with a plan devised among the Divination students to start hoarding their crystal balls, and a goal set by the fifth years to get in touch with the Ravenclaws before the week was out. There was no way we could set such a goal for the Gryffindors. We didn't even know where they were yet. We discussed the possibility that they weren't coming back and that we might have to do this without them. It was an intimidating thought. The Gryffindors were valiant and daring. There was no doubt that they'd be an asset to our cause. But I wasn't sure if they were an entirely necessary one. Every person we could get on board would strengthen us, but I wasn't about to dwell on something I couldn't have.

The Ravenclaw fifth years did get that permission to go to the library, with some fuss. With much less fuss Deanna also got permission to go. Before she left she drew the D.A. symbol, simply the letters _D.A. _encircled by the name _Dumbledore's Army_ in red ink, on a piece of parchment and slipped it into her pocket. Before she did this, though, Robert cursed it to catch fire if held by anyone but her or one of the target Ravenclaws. She thought it might be courteous to make note of this on the back in case they tried to pass it around. She went off to the library, alone, after supper. Roy and Eskine were accompanied by an armed escort. Deanna returned around quarter to nine with empty pockets.

"I heard them talking about Ancient Runes a lot. I took a chance on _Spellman's Syllabary _and they picked it up. They recognised it immediately and hid it before their escort saw," she explained proudly.

Robert was making major headway on the crystal balls, or orbs as he insisted we call them. Within two nights he could receive a blurry image of one of the students in the dormitory next to his. By the next Monday, exactly two weeks after the return of the Hufflepuffs, he could have a full conversation with students in any part of the Tower from the comforts of his own dorm. He wasn't sure how well they'd work at long distances, but as long as we were all perfectly silent we might be able to tell what they were saying. As for the possibility of blurriness; visuals weren't that important, anyway.

I was excited about getting the orbs to work. I was looking forward to seeing Hector. After our risky visit we were being watched too closely to arrange another. Once the orb system was set up we could chat at anytime. Not being able to see Hector was difficult. I occupied myself by taking the reins at D.A. meetings and listening to Scarlett ranting before bed, but it wasn't the same. Hector was out of my reach, the Quidditch team was disband, and Connor was gone. I tried to tell myself I only missed him because he was my key to the Gryffindors. Still, something inside me insisted that I was lonelier without him.

Carbrey was the one who noticed how down I was, and knew I wasn't being totally honest when I insisted that everything was fine and dandy. "Tell you what," he said one morning after breakfast, "if I can get old man Wragge to let us into the courtyard I'll let you come out and throw a Quaffle around with me." Wragge was the name of our escort. We never learned his first name.

"He won't go for it," I assured him with a cold shoulder.

"Alright then," said Carbrey. "If he doesn't let us out then I promise I will leave you alone for good now."

"Fantastic," I said dryly as I turned away from him to head for my classes.

"But," he called. He didn't finish, forcing me to turn around and ask,

"But _what_?"

"If he lets us out you _have to _come play catch with me."

I sighed at his hopeless persistence. "_Fine,_" I heaved. "But he'll never let me out of the castle."

"Don't worry," Carbrey called as he started towards his classmates. "He will."

I went to my classes with the peace of mind knowing that there was no way Wragge would ever let anyone out of the castle, especially me. That peace was disturbed when Carbrey cut me off on my way out of the Great Hall that evening. "Where do you think you're going?" As he asked this he pitched a Quaffle into my hands. I stared down at it, then back up at him.

"Oh, no…"

"Oh, yes." He took my arm and started guiding me out of the Great Hall before I could protest. He released me in one corner of the Courtyard, then crossed to the opposing one and held up his hands. But I wasn't interested in playing with him. I wanted answers.

"How'd you get Wragge to let me out here?"

He let his arms fall and shrugged. "I'm pretty persuasive." As if to illustrate his arms went back in the air and he ignored further questioning until I pitched the Quaffle at him as hard as I could. It flew right through his hands and he had to fumble around to pick it up.

"You're not a very good catch, are you?"

He shrugged as he stood back up again. "I try."

Try he did. Before dark he was catching and throwing a lot more accurately. I got even more comfortable with the arrangement as time wore on and was eventually yelling and laughing with him. So much so that a guard heard us and came stalking up suspiciously. Wragge's letter of concent kept us free of any punishment (and caused me to wonder about what Carbrey had said to Wragge even more), but we were still ordered to return to our dormitory. We agreed and Carbrey held the Quaffle to his hip with one arm and swung the other around my waist. I tread on his toes as hard as I could and he settled for my shoulders.

"Admit it," he pried. "You loved that."

"Loved what?" I asked. "Playing catch or stomping on your toes?" We both laughed at that. I answered his question by swinging my own arm around his shoulders. I had had fun. And, no matter what his motives were, I appreciated Carbrey doing this for me. "Why'd you go through the trouble, anyway?" I asked. "I'm still not into you."

He laughed. "I know your type," he said. I expected this to be a euphemism for something before he added, "You need a certain amount of sunlight and fresh air in a day or you start to wilt."

I laughed. Maybe I could let Carbrey be my friend for one night.

We were on our way up the Grand Staircase to the seventh floor corridor when Carbrey held out the Quaffle to me. "Fifty-ninth time's a charm?" he said. I took the Quaffle and he headed up the stairs. At the top he turned to face me. Right before I pulled my arm back for the pitch he yelled down, "Don't go easy on me." I assented to this and let the Quaffle fly. It went right over his head and out of sight. I made a mental point of telling him that you never back up after a ball as I climbed the staircase leisurely, in no rush to see him drop the ball again. I listened for the sound of the ball against the stone floor. But I hardly heard it land.

I hardly heard anything over his screaming.


	6. The Gryffindors

Dead. A whole pile of them, dead. And Carbrey sprawled out on top of them.

I leapt the last few stairs and ran to his side. He was shaking, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at them. Pale, clad in black and red. I looked away, scared of whom I might recognise, but it was too late for that. Bernard Cummins, Gryffindor's first new addition, was right underneath Carbrey's leg. Rosalind Muttoone, the one Wilmer had cursed into torturing her friend was hanging out from the bottom of the pile, her head beside my knee. I stalled for a minute, thinking I might puke, then went back to trying to get Carbrey off the pile. He grabbed at my arms and clothes, but this time I let him. Anyone would reach out for the closest being to them if they'd fallen on a mound of corpses. Even I found myself clinging to him.

Just as we were standing up the wall to my right started darkening and sinking in. I stared at it, terrified at what might be happening. A great wooden door appeared in the wall and swung open. From it emerged a tall man with a swollen eye with another limp body slung over his shoulder. He was about throw it onto the pile when he noticed we were there. "Hey," he shouted. "Hey, what are you doing there!"

I started rapidly explaining about our game of catch, our _approved_ game of catch, and how this was all an accident and searched Carbrey's pockets for Wragge's note when the man shouted, "GO AWAY!"

He didn't have to ask twice. I slung Carbrey's arm over my shoulder and ran before I could see who the man had been carrying. I tripped over the Quaffle and he yelled at me again, this time sounding closer. Without looking back I ran as fast as I could while dragging another person. My legs were weak with fear under his weight and I stumbled and tripped every few steps. Finally I encountered the painting of Merlin, who asked calmly for the password. I sputtered it out and he swung aside so we could fall through the opening in the wall. All around us people looked up from their homework to ask questions. There hadn't been a meeting that night, but those faithful to the D.A. quickly gathered around us. After sitting on the floor heaving for a moment I was finally able to spit out one sentence;

"I found the Gryffindors."

Carbrey didn't go to classes the next day. He was persuasive and annoying but sensitive. Falling over a pile of dead people would be terrifying for anyone, but it was traumatizing for him. He spent the whole day in bed, shaken. Between classes I came up to visit him. It was risky to do without permission, but I had to do it. I felt responsible. I brought him some food from the Great Hall and tried to get him to eat, but he only took a few bites of anything.

Thankfully we cancelled the meeting that evening, for the same Death Eater who'd emerged from the wall in the corridor decided to walk into the common room unannounced. When the others told him that Carbrey and I were upstairs he didn't have the patience to wait for us to be fetched and just walked into the room uninvited. I flinched at first, then stared him down. This wasn't out of place at all. Seeing a steranger drag around the corpses of people you knew, whether you liked them or not, is cause to be suspicious.

The man introduced himself as Macnair, then went on to say, "Professor Snape wishes to speak with you. The pair of you—" he eyed Carbrey who I'd hidden behind my arm, "—immediately."

What choice did I have? I left Macnair to coerce Carbrey out of bed and went to wait by the door. When Carbrey came down stairs staring at his feet I felt sorry for him. I folded my hand around his as we walked out into the hall; an act which once would have thrilled him and provoked much taunting that now seemed to be barely comforting. Macnair accompanied us right up to the Headmaster's door and was then ordered out.

"But, sir, I think that I should-?"

"Did you not hear me?" Snape inquired. Macnair took the hint and turned to leave. When we were alone he pointed at the chairs in front of his desk and said, "Sit." We obeyed. I sat staring straight ahead; Carbrey sat staring into his lap. "If you came here expecting comfort I assure you that you will be disappointed."

"Well," I began, "once they told us you were involved I don't think either of us really planned on comfort—"

"You will speak only when spoken to, Miss Chisholm," he insisted.

"Funny how I thought you were speaking to—"

"Ms. Chisholm, I must insist that you be smart enough to _shut up_," he snapped. I zipped my lips and stared into his dark eyes, challenging him. He began to calm again. "Do you know what you've done?" he asked. I stared at him silently. "Well?" he snarled.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But I was _shutting up_."

The words were hardly out of my mouth when a spell hit my chest, launching me backwards. The chair tumbled over underneath me and I fell onto the floor in heap. "Young lady, I must insist, you are in severe trouble as it is and it is doing you no good to be so relentlessly annoying."

I stood up and, without breaking eye contact with him, and kicked the fallen chair at him. His lack of reaction at this told me that he understood it to be a sign of forfeit. He had us recount what had happened last night, asking far too many questions of Carbrey than I thought was fair, and wanted to know everyone we'd told. I told him we hadn't said much, only that we knew the Gryffindors were being tortured and kill on our floor, but that most of the House had been there so they probably all knew. This made him terribly unhappy. "You saw things that the Dark Lord did not want you to see," he said for emphasis. "Do you understand what that means?"

"That I've pissed off some guy I've never met who apparently doesn't have a nose?" I replied.

"It means," he growled, "that neither of you will leave the tower without personal escorts. They will see that this never happens again. Do I make myself clear?"

Carbrey nodded, but I just turned around and headed for the door with my arms crossed, assuming my commitment was over. "I'm not done with you, Chisholm," Snape called after me. He dismissed Carbrey then directed me to sit in his abandoned seat. I kept my arms crossed as I sat down in front of him, waiting for him to address me. "Ms. Chisholm, I am going to personally request that you clean up your attitude."

"And if I refuse?"

He looked down on me with intent and superiority, an air of intimidation wafted around him. "Then you may find yourself in some very… bad situations."

I met his eyes, with no intention of letting him see me as weak. I was above him. I was better than him. I could win. "Bring it."

And with that I stood to leave, this time without interruption. At the bottom of the stairs was a middle aged woman with pale brown hair and hollow cheeks. When she saw me marching down the hall she immediately followed without introduction or exclamation. Once in a while I was tempted to confront her but it was pointless. I already knew why she was there.

Back at the common room she stood guard by the portrait of Merlin with a man that had a prominent blonde brow. Carbrey's guard. As soon as I was through the door I started recounting everything that had happened to the room at large. This was less to be informative and more to do an experiment. I knew I wasn't supposed to talk about this and if the escorts were listening in on us they would surely report us to Snape and we'd see hell the next day.

Hell came, but not in the way I'd expected.

At breakfast the following morning the Gryffindors were made public again. They marched into the Great Hall looking ghostly, to say the least. There were far fewer of them than there had been at the beginning of the year. It was only those at the Slytheirn table who'd been in the common room at sun down two days ago that knew where the missing really were. Each of them looked like they'd lost half their body weight. Their skin was hanging off their boney faces that could only be called skulls, and no one's clothes fit. They all hung of their fragile skeletons like drapery, adding to the ghost-like effect.

Two girls at the Hufflepuff table were sitting together and desperately searching the crowd. Eventually I would learn that they had a brother among the walking dead. Someone with the same mousy brown hair as the youngest sister.

Meanwhile, I was busy searching the crowd myself. Trying to find the boy who'd first whispered in my ear the name "Dumbledore's Army". I was anxious that they may have found out about our conversation and had killed him because of it when I thought I saw him take a seat with his back to me. He looked so different starved that it took a whole morning of squinting and staring to confirm it. Sure enough, there he was.

Connor Hunnisett was alive.

Waves of relief washed over me. I was not a failure. My gate to the Gryffindors had not closed. I sort of felt guilty for thinking like this but expelled the thought by trying to come up with ways of contacting him. This soon after mass torture he probably wouldn't be terribly enthusiastic about joining an army that could get him killed. Then again, if I waited any longer, he might have died anyway. I decided that I'd reach him that day. But how? And there was still the question of whether or not he'd go for it. After all, it looked like all any of them wanted was a good piece of unburned toast…

And there lay my answer. I reached for a piece of toast from the rack in the middle of our table and started to nibble on it, my eyes trained on my personal escort. When she got up to go consult with Slytherin's main guide I grabbed a knife and made haste. It wouldn't be pretty, but it was at least recognizable. The hollow cheeked woman just returned to her seat across from me as I slipped the toast into my pocket.

We had Dark Arts first thing that morning. Connor avoided looking at me as he headed for his usual seat a few rows ahead. My guard was waiting outside and Professor Carrow was caught up in a conversation with another teacher. Now was my chance, and it wasn't a time to be discrete. I rose and strode over to Connor's desk and stood square in front of him, holding out the toast which had been folded in half. "Here." When he only stared up at me blankly I ordered, "Eat it." He lifted his hand tentatively, as if the bread was going to hurt him, and then started taking it from my hand, all the while never taking his eyes off me. "Hope you like what's on it." With that, I turned away. I knew even with my back turned that he recognised the symbol. Either that or he just really liked peanut butter, for he leapt from his seat. When I looked back he was holding the toast open with both his hand and was looking at me with what I thought to be terror but what turned out to be the most gracious face a tortured person could manage.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was breathy and quiet, but bursting at the seams with gratitude. "Thank you."

"What on Earth was that noise?" Carrow shouted as he rounded the corner into the room. Connor quickly sat down and stuffed his face with his back to the teacher, hoping he was lucky enough not to be caught stealing food. Thankfully Carrow was ignorant to his bulging cheeks.

I was a little nervous that Eleanora might tell on us, but she didn't seem interested. She actually seemed a little out of the ordinary lately. She'd go to bed without accusing any of us of being blood traitors or rule breakers and didn't fight back when we taunted her. She could even be seen sitting on the stairs during our meetings, staring at her feet and staying quiet.

The meeting that night was a positive one. Roy had snuck Deanna a code that they could use to communicate using _A Standard Book of Spell_. She showed it to us so that we could interpret it if need be; they'd pass between them notes that contained series of number in columns and rows. The first column contained only one number, one through seven, indicating the book to reference. Then each column following represented a word. The first number in the column was the page, the second the paragraph, and the third the word. The note the direction came on were rigged to burn in anyone's hands but Deanna's. When we were done with it Muir took the note and threw it on the fire.

The seventh years gave the news about the toast. It was considerably lower tech than the fifth years, but it went off without a hitch.

"Yeah," spat Eleanora from her place on the stairs. "No problems at all. Having a kid sit there with crumbs all down the front of him doesn't look the least bit suspicious. Professor Carrow probably already sent for him to be punished for stealing food."

"Well, at least it's better that he gets detention for stealing food than all of us getting arrested for starting an army," I replied spitefully.

"And if they do find out about that?"

"They won't," I assured her.

"Oh, sure they won't." Her tone was sarcastic and she rolled her eyes. "You were too stealthy to get caught, standing up in from of everyone then letting him shout at you."

"Carrow didn't notice," I asserted. "And as long as everyone keeps their mouths shut he'll never know." By this time I'd moved from my seat on the low backed couch and was standing over her threateningly.

She stood up to look straight into my face. "And what if not everyone's willing to keep their mouths shut?"

"You wouldn't dare," I hissed.

"Wouldn't I?"

That was when I lost it with her. She was flat out threatening to get me arrested, and an instinct to protect myself kicked in. She tried to push by me towards the door so I grabbed her round the waist and threw her back on the stair. I leaned down to grab at her and she slapped away my hand. It was weak and wouldn't have done anything if my fingers weren't still sore from being broken weeks earlier. She took advantage of my pain to run up the stairs. "Idiot!" I called after her, on my way up the stairs behind her. "We sleep in the same room!" She tried to shut the door on me before I could reach it but I stuck one foot in the door and kicked it open with the other. Eleanora looked around frantically, trying to find something to put between us. With no luck, she reached for her wand. She was too slow. I jumped at her and grabbed her arm and we fell onto Tonia's bed. We struggled for a moment but I was physically far stronger than she was. I pried the weapon from her hands and point it at her.

At that moment Scarlett and Tonia came flying up the stair. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" Scarlett yelled. I ignored her, my eyes and weapon fixated on Eleanora.

"The hell's gotten into you?" I demanded far louder than necessary. "No one's making you take any part in this! Why can't you just leave us alone-?"

"Because I _want_ to take part!" she shouted at me. That got my attention. "Do you ever cut your hair?" She was trying to look at our spectators who were increasing in numbers by the minute, but my hair was concealing her face as it so frequently concealed mine. "Let me up, you savage, I'm not going to run away!" I considered this for a moment then slid off of her with her wand at my side. She stood up, straightened her clothes and hair, then turned to me with her hand extended. "Give me my wand," she ordered.

"Tell me what's going on."

"I can tell you what's going on just as well with my wand as without it—"

"Then do it without."

She stared at me a moment longer, hating me. Then she turned to look over her spectators and said, rather calmly, "I don't want to tell all of you." It was settled that Eleanora would only have to deal with her usual roommates; me, Astoria, Scarlett, and Tonia. We shut the door and sat down on our beds, all looking at Eleanora expectantly. She was staring at something on the floor that only she could see. Then she began;

Eleanora Jernigan, who'd taken her mother's name, was born to Hester Jernigan and Rick Coates. Rick had loved Hester very much and knew she was a witch. He also knew that she would only marry someone of pureblood, like herself. But he didn't think this was right. After all, she loved him as long as she didn't know he was a muggle. So he decided to marry her and raise a family, then inform her that he was a muggle after he was sure she had realised she could love him despite his 'flaw'. She was eager to marry him, and they did so a month after Rick's proposal and were expecting a daughter a month after that. Of course since having a baby is different in the wizarding world than it is in the muggle worldd, with the differences between healers and doctors and the different customs, Rick decided that he would announce his heritage when she announced her pregnancy. She had him banished. She locked him out of their home in Hogsmeade and refused to speak to him, saying that she was busy trying to figure out how to have the "parasite" removed from her stomach. Wizards don't have any sort of abortion, thus she was unsuccessful. Many healers assured her that she would feel different about the baby once it was in her arms. She didn't. Once the baby was in her arms she immediately set out to have it adopted. But the Ministry wouldn't have it. Eleanora was born a year after the fall of Voldemort and a child's blood status was no longer a valid reason to be rid of it. The last Hester ever contacted Rick was to have him name his "devil's child". From then on Hester was forced to raise Eleanora, making sure that she was sorry for being halfblood and instilling in her all the qualities of a proper pureblood supremacist. Since Voldemort's return, the new Ministry of Magic found Hester's application and asked her why she hadn't tried to have it reviewed. She thought they would find the request as outrageous as the last Ministry and they told her not to be ridiculous. Since Eleanora was of age and could no longer be adopted Hester spent the last few months signing forms and sorting through the legalities of disowning her daughter without even a hint in Eleanora's direction. All she heard of it had come to her in a letter earlier that week from her mother, containing the forms that Eleanora was required to sign to release Hester from the burden of having a daughter.

That same letter was now circulating the room. Scarlett held it for an extended period of time in disbelief. She handed it off to Tonia, who stared at it for an equally long time, and said, "Do you know what they did to your father?"

Eleanora nodded, still looking at the floor and trying not to cry. "It was in the _Prophet_ last month. He was one of the muggles they killed." Every week the Death Eaters killed half a dozen muggles to send a message. Rick Coates had been on the list for the second week in October. Eleanora picked up a pillow and started hugging it, rocking back and forth on her bed.

"At least you're of age," said Tonia soothingly. "You can get a job somewhere, and—"

"I don't want a job!" Eleanora snapped. "I want a _life_! I want an _education_! And I can't have it! I can't have anything! Not without a mom or a dad…"

Everyone knew what Eleanora wanted with her life. The way that she lit up during Herbology class. The only time I could really stand her was when she was talking about plants. It was a boring subject, but Eleanora was passionate about it. When she wasn't talking about blood traitors and heresy, she was talking about travelling around the world to study and collect exotic magical plants then moving to Scotland to start the world's first public garden exclusively for magical plants. She was right about not being able to afford a future like that when she was cut off from all of her parents' funds.

After how rude she was to me I would never feel sympathy for her, but she had earned some pity. "I know what you're going through," I whispered.

"No you don't," she yelled, throwing the pillow back on the bed and standing tall. She couldn't stop the tears from flowing down now. "How could you ever understand what I'm going through?" she sobbed. "You don't know what it's like."

"I just—" I hesitated, picking my words carefully. For a moment my face showed vulnerability. I banished it and looked unhappily at Eleanora. "I just do, okay?" I thrust her wand at her and turned to go back down stair. The other girls were getting up to give Eleanora hugs and comforts. For a moment I felt jealous, but I just let that become another bad feeling on a list of bad feelings that I could project towards her. At the bottom of the stairs everyone was waiting for my big news. "She's on our side, guys." Everyone seemed thrilled. They gave her a hero's welcome when she came down the stairs with tears still threatening to fall. I watched the scene from where I perched in the windowsill, feeling spiteful.

We decided Eleanora should act no different outside the common room than usual. All the teachers in the school trusted her, and we didn't want to lose that until the last possible moment. After that was done we started talking about getting the orbs to the other students. Robert had made a passage between four orbs that would allow us to see and hear everyone in each of the common rooms as if they were there in front of us. Now there was a matter of getting them to the others. Ravenclaw would be easy. Robert would leave them an orb in the Divination room and Deanna would give directions to steal it to Roy who would relay the information to a Ravenclaw Divination student. Hufflepuff would be a challenge, but we assumed our best bet was to get the orb to them at some point during Care of Magical Creatures. There seemed like no opportunities for getting the orb to the Gryffindors.

"Audrey should give it to that Hunnisett boy," Tonia said. "They're friendly enough with each other I don't think he'll find it weird." I didn't like the way she said we were 'friendly enough with each other'.

"But how will they know what to do with it when they get it?" asked Jill.

"We use the S. Bosc to tell them how it works," said Deanna. 'S. Bosc' is what we decided to call our code. The idea came from my frequent and subconscious use of acronyms.

"They don't know S. Bosc," Nathaniel said.

"Then we write out the direction on burning paper like Dunn did," said Morna. "Tomorrow, Eireen can give them to Jean-Marr and Audrey to Hunnisett."

"No," I said a tad too defensively. "We don't want the Houses only trusting one of us. We need to shake it up a bit."

Everyone agreed that was a valid point and decided that Kentigern would give the direction to the Hufflepuffs and Astoria would give them to the Gryffindors. The people on the receiving ends would be the ones sitting next to, or standing frequently near (in the case of Care of Magical Creatures), the original recipient; Ross Doherty, Connor's friend, and Rylie Adair, Vivian's friend. We wrote up three sets of coded directions for _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four_ before heading to bed that night, still with no clue how to sneak a giant stolen glass ball to the other students undetected.

The next morning I watched Astoria drop the slip of paper next to Ross' desk while listening to Scarlett go on and on about a charm to make your hair appear glossier. Ross picked it up and held it out to the girls who had taken their seats at the front of the classroom. "Ms. Greengrass?" he called softly. "You dropped this."

"No she didn't," said Scarlett without looking back at him, though the smile on her face grew. The boys examined the sheet for a moment, then I saw Connor looking back at me out of the corner of my eye. Without looking up at him I nodded and he turned away.

At Astronomy with the Gryffindors that evening Tonia received a note from Brigh Heffernan that opened with the number six. We decoded it at the meeting that evening. It instructed us to "forget" the orb in the cabinet of extra potions books on Monday. Monday morning model student Robert Shinington came into class in a panic that he'd left his textbook behind. Professor Llewellyn let him be excused to fetch it, but he argued that he would miss far too much instructional time and insisted he would be fine using a spare book. Professor Llewellyn found herself faced with a similar problem in her Gryffindor/Hufflepuff class the next morning. Meanwhile, Neil Jardine took a sudden interest in keeping the trough of the blood-sucking bugbears full. When the food started to rot, as the bugbears weren't eating it fast enough, Coleman Foley was assign to clean it out and the mysterious hard lump that had been in one corner suddenly disappeared.

By the second of December we were sitting around the Slytherin common room, staring into our glass ball, waiting to see if Robert's trick would work long range. We'd given the others S. Bosc notes instructing them to contact us at ten p.m. The minutes ticked by. No one could focus on anything else. People tried to go upstairs for a nap or sit around the fire to do homework, but none could manage. Even Wilmer was antsy to see if it would work, though he insisted that he was just bored up in his dorm on his own. This made him the target of much teasing about being afraid of the dark among other things. By quarter to ten everyone in the House was sitting around the orb, waiting for something to happen. At 9:58, we held our breath as one, until 10:02, when people started gasping for air, but the focus remained the same. We all knew this was new magic for them but, still, having them be even a little late was disappointing. And it got more so. By 10:36 many of the first years were fast asleep on couches, in laps, and sprawled out across the floor. At 10:51 the first wave of people gave up and went to bed. At 11:04 the common room was almost empty. At 11:09 the last of us were packing up and going to bed, trying not to step on sleeping first years, when we were sudden addressed.

"Greetings, my lovelies."


	7. The Houses

**Chapters this week are short, so you get two.**

* * *

Only the Gryffindors had known that Ross Doherty was a clown, since a sense of humor was frowned upon by the Death Eaters. None f us were particularly amused either. At first many of us were offended and continued to leave, but all quickly got over themselves and were busy fetching the bed-goers and waking the nap-takers. Soon we were gathered round the orb in the center of the room, gazing upon the common rooms of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. It was a poor and distorted image, since the orb had divided itself to show all three rooms with Ravenclaw on top, Gryffindor in the middle, and Hufflepuff on the bottom. John Holmes, a Ravenclaw, was extremely displeased with the layout.

"We wouldn't have been the last in the loop if he hadn't been trying to fix it," Meredith MacEachthighearna explained, rolling her eyes.

"If you would have let me I could have made it focus in on the person talking, rather than having to try and pick out the speaker in such a crowd," John whined.

"I know how you can do that," said Carbrey.

"You do?" John suddenly seemed intrigued.

"Yep, invest in better glasses." Most people laughed. John started adjusting the rims of his aviator style frames. Carbrey's humor was always at someone else's expense. Still, I was glad he was being himself. Despite the shot at John's pride Robert encouraged him to continue looking into it and to get a S. Bosc to one of the Slytherins as soon as he saw good results.

"So," Meredith began. "We've all been a bit in the dark about what you Slytherins are up to. Care to fill us in?"

And that we did. We told her and the others about how we were fed up with always being the bad guys and how we were ready to start fighting back. We received a lot of snide comments from the others about not trusting us or how we could've been there earlier, but those disputes were generally put to rest with the same offer we'd give Lucinda, Wilmer, and Eleanora; if you don't want to take part, don't and we won't get you in trouble. Everyone chose to stay in the room, at least.

"What's your plan?" asked Brian Cummins, a Gryffindor third year who seemed eager to get started. I recognized him as the kid who always got in trouble at meal time for humming. Apparently he and his brother had come from a musical family. He hadn't been humming much since the Gryffindors were released, and I couldn't help wondering if they'd only killed his brother, Bernard, to shut him up.

"Well," Eireen started. "Our original to do list was to get in contact with the other Houses—"

"Done," said Finley Grey of Gryffindor.

"—then get information. Specifically about the prophecy and Harry Potter. Anyone know anything useful?"

No one spoke up.

"Gryffindors?" asked Harold Quiggs of Ravenclaw. "Surely one of you must have known Harry Potter."

Brigh Heffernan shook her head. "Sorry, he was quite… reserved. We could tell you who he dated and when but as for anything related to fighting Death Eaters we only know what the rest of you do."

Most of the other Gryffindors nodded in agreement. Finley added, "It was really just Weasley and Granger that knew anything about him. Course, Granger's dead now and Weasley's in Azkaban."

"What about anyone else in Potter's year?" Harold persisted. "From any House. Someone must have known something about him. Something he said in one of his classes? Anything?"

Again, no one could offer anything useful. "Almost everyone in that year was part of the original Army. All the muggleborns and halfbloods were killed and all the purebloods went to prison," Minty explained.

"No one suggest that we go to break them out of Azkaban!" Wilmer said. For some reason he'd come back down. Maybe being the only one not in the Army was more isolating than being the only one occupying your dormitory.

"No one's suggesting that," Eleanora assured him.

Something was bothering me about what Minty had said. I sat on my usually perch in the window watching the dementors float by in the distance, relaying the statement in my head. "All the muggleborns and halfbloods were killed and all the purebloods went to prison." _All the purebloods… _That couldn't have been right… I got up and walked closer to the orb. "What happened to the Slytherin kids?" I asked. Everyone stopped to look at me. They'd already moved on to debating whether or not the prophecy even allowed us to kill Voldemort. Some were still fighting about it as I repeated my inquiry. "What happened to the Slytherins in Harry's year?"

"I'm not sure," said Minty.

"Moved on with their lives, I guess," Glenn said from behind me.

"But they weren't killed? Or arrested?" I asked.

"Only a few. Mostly in battle, though, not for heresy," Robert replied. "Like Vincent Crabbe."

"So they might know something," I suggested.

"What does it matter if they do?" said Finley. "I doubt they'd want to help us even if we could reach them. Lots of them became Death Eaters, you know."

"How do we know?" came Astoria's small voice. "A month ago you all thought we were aspiring Death Eaters, didn't you? How can we say that some of the younger Death Eaters aren't the same way? Were too scared to challenge the Dark Lord on their own and only follow him out of fear?"

"They don't even have to be on our side," Scarlett pointed out. "You can get people to tell you anything if you have the right leverage."

Everyone agreed to this.

"Which Slytherins are left? That graduated in 1998?" asked Coleman.

"Does it matter?" said Ross. "Everyone hated the Slytherins in Potter's time. Him especially. Why would any of them know anything useful about him?"

"Well, an enemy can know more about a person than their best friend," said Harold.

"That's true," said Robert. "But maybe we're looking at this all wrong. We don't need necessarily need to know stuff about Potter. We need information about the Dark Lord." He filled in the other kids about how we were going to try and find out everything Harry had known about fighting Voldemort. "Maybe someone on the other side knew everything Harry did, and more. A sort of 'Chosen One of the Dark Side' kind of deal."

Many faces from a variety of Houses looked at him with understanding. Clearly, I was missing something that everyone here was supposed to know. Thankfully Astoria saved me from having to ask.

"Draco Malfoy?" she said.

Robert nodded. "Draco Malfoy."

"The education minister's son?" asked Coleman.

"We can't trust him," said Finley. "He killed Dumbledore, after all."

"We don't have to trust him," John reminded us. "Like the ginger Slytherin said, we just need the right leverage to get him to talk. Then it doesn't matter which side he thinks he's on."

"Ginger Slytherin's name is _Scarlett Bagley_," Scarlett stated.

"Before we can think about whether or not we can trust him," said Erskine, ignoring Scarlett's huffing at being brushed aside. "We need to know how to contact him."

"Couldn't we just write him a letter?" Tonia suggested. The students in the other Houses, who weren't as used to Tonia's idiocy, started to question her sanity. Soon she saw what a bad idea this was, though we did have to explain that mail moving to and from the castle was being watched among other complications.

"What about his dad?" asked Rylie. "He goes through the castle a lot, to talk to Snape. We see him going by about once a week."

Eleanora confirmed this. "Wilmer and I escort him to the Headmaster's office when he has business here."

"But what good is that?" asked Ross. "We need to talk to his son, not him."

"We could hold him for ransom," Tonia suggested. At this point people from the other Houses were starting to request that Tonia be removed.

"We're on to something, though," said Meredith. "There's got to be a way to get to Malfoy through his father."

"And then what?" came Roy. "Blackmail?"

"No," I said. "We talk to him face to face. Make him want to give up the information. Make him trust us enough."

"And how do you plan on managing that?" Brian asked pessimistically. "You can't break into his home."

"And good luck finding him out of it. I've heard he's been a hermit since the war ended," said Wilmer, who only seemed to speak out when he thought it would be the least helpful.

"But I can break in," I argued. I didn't really know where I was going with this, but I didn't know what I was saying when I started this revolution, either. "And Mr. Malfoy's going to help me do it."


	8. The Minister

"Chisholm. Chisholm!" Eleanora yelled up at me. I'd become quite comfortable at my place in the window sill and had taken up a nap. This one was much larger and took in more evening light than the one in the Slytherin common room.

"Neh?" I replied lazily.

"Come here, Audrey," she called.

I wriggled around till my feet were dangling off the edge of the sill then pushed off and fell to the floor, landing on my feet. As I rose I tried not to notice the white haired man standing behind Eleanora. "Yeah?" I was addressing her, not him.

"Wilmer's having a bit of… trouble upstairs, and the Minister needs someone to escort him to the Headmaster's office. Someone who'll represent the school well." The last sentence she said with a rather threatening tone.

"And I was your first choice?" I smirked.

Eleanora glared. Then she hissed, loud enough for our company to hear, "Just don't embarrass yourself."

I laughed at her mockingly, and she turned on her heels to return to our guest. She spoke to him in a hushed tone, but I knew what she was saying about me. She was telling him that I wasn't the best behaved student, and she was apologizing that she had to leave him with someone like me. While she did this I tried to look disinterested, twirling the end of my braid between my fingers. I didn't usually braid my hair unless I was playing a sport, and I definitely never pinned my bangs out of my eyes but Scarlett insisted it made me more attractive. She tried to make me wear a skirt, too, but I walked so strangely in it that she saw it wasn't worth it.

I gazed up lazily as the two came towards me. "Mr. Malfoy, this a peer of mine, Audrey Chisholm. Audrey, this is Minister Lucius Malfoy."

"Pleasure," I said, extending my hand. I tried to smile as naturally as I could when speaking an empty greeting.

"The pleasures all mine," he insisted. "I appreciate you taking time out of your day to assist me."

"Not a problem. I wasn't doing much, anyway."

"Is that an American accent I detect?"

"Yes it is." I nodded. "I transferred here this year."

He looked like he wanted to say more but Eleanora jumped between us to address me. "Mr. Malfoy has a meeting with the Headmaster at eight o'clock. You'll wait outside until I get there then I'll see him out. You should be going now."

"If they'd let us apparate in school we'd still have ten minutes," I joked. This was something I'd usually say under my breath, but this time I said it in a normal volume with a small chuckle coming up behind it. Eleanora glared at me disapprovingly and I straightened up, though my face showed signs of surpressing a laugh that wasn't there. "This way, sir," I said with a smile as I turned to go up the stairs. As soon as Eleanora was out of earshot, Lucius asked me what everyone around here does when they first hear my voice.

"What part of America are you from, Miss?"

"I went to school in New York City," I replied honestly.

That seemed to give him some reservations. He backed away from me a little, staying two steps down from me. "Isn't that a muggle city?"

"Yes," I sighed.

"Then why is there a school there?"

I gave him the same answer I'd given to Eleanora. But this time there was much more disgust on my face. "Almost everyone in America is either a mudblood or a blood traitor." I rolled my eyes to show my supposed disapproval. "But they're taking care of that, moving the school and hiring new teachers and everything. Generally trying to put the country on the right track."

He approved eagerly of these last few comments. "So you've come here—"

"—to be in a better environment, yeah," I finished. It wasn't my reason for coming here, but it was someone else's.

"How do you like Britain thus far?"

"It's nice, I geuss," I said, "but I wish I could get out of this castle. It's beautiful and everything, but I'm not seeing much of the country. I hear we don't even get to go home for Christmas. Not that I really have a home to go to, but still…"

"What do you mean by 'not having a home to go to'?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm an orphan," I mentioned casually.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry." He didn't sound terribly sorry at all.

"Don't be." There wasn't really a need to say this. He wasn't sorry at all."It was a long time ago. I've was sent to live with some American muggle after that. Always drunk, impulsively violent, you know the type."

"Indeed I do." His voice was filled with more pity when he said this than it had been when apologising for the death of my parents. "You know, there are still people who think that muggles are perfectly civil creatures. I can't imagine how deeply in denial one must be to believe such a thing when there are young witches and wizards like you having to live like you do."

"I can't say it was easy," I said focussing on how my feet were kicking the dust around.

By this time we were walking down the corridor that lead to the Headmaster's office. I stood in front of the stone eagle and spoke the password I remembered from when Carbrey and I were brought here to be questioned. We boarded the spinning stairwell and I held the door open for him at the top. I could just make out Snape's face, working away at his desk, from where I stood and hoped Lucius would enter quietly enough not to let him see me. I wasn't so lucky. Lucius walked right up to the Headmaster's desk then turned around to say, "Thank you, Ms. Chisholm." Snape looked up immediately, questioning me with his eyes but not looking entirely surprised, either. I didn't wait for him to verbalise his suspicions.

"Eleanora had to deal with something," I explained.

He just continued staring at me, then started to sort the papers on his desk. I waited by the door for him to dismiss me. When he did he looked at me impatiently as though I should have already gone.

"That will be all, Ms. Chisholm."

I nodded and closed the door, heading back down the enchanted stairs to stand in the hall. I had to occupy myself by searching for interesting patterns in the brickwork until Eleanora came running down the corridor. When our faces were almost touching she whispered, "Well, how'd it go?"

"Fine, I think."

"Do you want me to keep busy so you can make sure?"

"No," I replied. "No, he seemed interested. Well, after I explained about being an orphan and spending Christmas with a drunk the past fourteen years he seemed interested. If he's going to ask me over for the holidays he's already decided to."

We agreed that my staying around would only seem unusual, thus I was to return to our common room to report to the others while Eleanora tried her best to make me seem more desirable by saying mean things about me. The moment I was behind the painting of Merlin I took the pins out of my hair and threw them at the back of Scarlett's head. A couple people from different Houses laughed when she started screaming that there was a bug in her hair. I was seated in the center of the room, nearest the orb, so that everyone could hear about what had happened. Some were disappointed at my walking away, but others like Robert, Glenn, and most of the Ravenclaws agreed it was the best thing to do.

The following morning I shuffled into line to go down to breakfast with the other Slytherins, as usual. What wasn't so usual was that on the other side of the painting I took a sudden slap in the face. I stumbled backwards a little ways and Alwyn caught me by the shoulders to keep me from falling. However he kept a hold on me even after I became stable, because he knew that I had a reflex to hit back. I let myself lay limp in his arms while I took a glance at my attacker. It was my escort, face burning in rage.

"Where in Merlin's name were _you_!" she shouted for all Europe to hear.

"First floor," I answered honestly and coolly, weaselling out of Alwyn's hold.

This answer was not satisfactory. She wanted to know how I'd snuck away from her, what I was doing, why I'd done it, all of which were questions I answered truthfully.

"Jumped out the window of the Dark Arts classroom—showing the Education Minister to the Headmaster's office—because you're a bitch and I wanted to get away from you." She seemed to be getting angrier and angrier every time I opened my mouth. Nothing new, we'd established long ago that we didn't like each other. I was just better at getting under her skin than she was at getting under mine. Her next statement would have ruined my life, though.

"Ms. Chisholm, you are _never_ to be out of my sight _again_. You've tainted the pride of our school—in front of the minister!—and you will not be allowed to do it again! You won't study, eat, sleep, or _breath _without me there!"

Horror.

It wasn't so much the idea of having someone watching me sleep that was so disturbing but the thought that I would never again have a moment to myself. I couldn't stand the thought of never being alone again. What's more is that no one would be able to move on with the rebellion if she was constantly breathing down my neck. I was trapping everyone. I was poised and ready to fight back when I heard the monotonic voice protesting from atop the stairs. "That will do, Adelaide." My escort, apparently named Adelaide, turned sharply to glare up at him, though her face quickly softened when she saw who was addressing her.

"Headmaster," she began, "You assigned me to keep an eye on that girl and she escaped, in purposeful defiance of my authority and—"

"Left a pleasant enough impression on the Minister of Magical Education that he has personally requested that she see him back to my office for our meeting tonight," he interrupted. "Yes, I'm aware that you let her escape you watchful eye. You are lucky that she didn't do anything… stupid. Otherwise I may have to punish you severely."

"But Headmaster!" Adelaide protested. I couldn't help smiling at her helplessness and confusion. "But Headmaster, she ran away!"

"I am aware that you have failed to keep her in your sight," he replied sternly. "And because of it, you no longer hold a position with this school." Adelaide looked wrecked. She tried to protest his decision, blaming all her faults on me, but he only put the blame back on her. She was eventually asked to leave to start packing her things and be out of the castle before breakfast was done.

By this time my smile was wide and glowing at the prospect of my new freedom. Snape noticed. "Don't look so please, Ms. Chisholm," he said as he swept down the stairs. "You're new escort will be hired this afternoon." Then he was gone to the Great Hall ahead of us.

The prospect of a new escort was disappointing indeed but I was so pleased to be rid of Adelaide that I couldn't help showing off my joy. But there was another reason to be happy. Snape just told us outright that our scheme had been successful. Everywhere I turned I'd see people shooting each other grins. No one really asked us what we were so happy about, and the ones who did were told that children are always excited about the snow.

For snow there was. Out every window one could see the soft flakes falling in light bunches, not at all like the heavy wet clumps we got in New York. Everything was coated in what seemed to be a dusting of sugar. Though winter wasn't really anything to be cheery about. We weren't allowed to go home for Christmas and the castle wasn't even decorated for the upcoming holiday. I found it odd that Christmas was even being celebrated at all, considering its strong muggle origins. But maybe I only knew this because American Muggle Studies classes actually teach things about muggles. I could only assume the Death Eaters were ignorant to its meaning, and thank Merlin for that.

With the lack of Christmas cheer and the general atmosphere of the school one would not expect the dynamic of the Great Hall to have changed so much. But it had. Children were smiling at each other. They smiled at their teachers and escorts, which mostly just caused confusion. And, though we continued to eat in silence with our backs straight as a board and our gaze unmoving from a single focal point, we were a noticeably happier crowd. The escorts didn't have a clue what to do about it. They usually found things to punish us for when we displayed joy, but, lately, we'd all been on our best behavior, which forced them to make up new rules on the spot so that we wouldn't get through a meal without observing a punishment. Still, not even a new scar on the cheek could dull our collective mood.

Of course I was happy about having Adelaide sent away, but it wasn't until much later that I understood what the others were feeling. The unity and hope. Even if I had understood, would I have known why this had made them so happy? I can only guess.

Classes were just as silently pleasant as our breakfast, and Professor Carrow even had to resort to putting the reason for detention on the slip down as "Won't stop saying 'thank you' when I tell him/her that he/she is doing things wrong" during Muggle Studies. On the way past the third year Gryffindors in the hall I even heard Brian Cummins humming again. We saw him in Dark Arts that afternoon to "help us learn the Cruciatus Curse".

Evening came and Scarlett insisted on braiding my hair again. We thought we ought to tell the other Houses what had happened that morning before I headed down to meet the Minister. We just called them quickly on the orb and informed whoever was in each common room at the time, discouraging them from gathering the whole group until our scheduled meeting time after my return. While we were connected with the others many of the Slytherin seventh years took the chance to apologize to Brian. He assured us there were no hard feelings, even singing a short verse about forgiveness from a song he knew. Everyone laughed at him afterwards, including himself. He was a cellist, not a singer. That had been Bernard.

With good luck wished upon me I left the tower and started heading down the stairs, alternating between walking to indulge in the freedom and running to feel free. I hadn't been allowed to walk these halls alone in such a long time, unless you count the time I climbed out the Dark Arts classroom window and had to sneak back inside, in which case I hadn't been allowed to walk these halls alone since yesterday. I jumped the last four steps of the grand stair case and listened to the sound of my landing echo through the room. Eleanora had told me to show up five minutes early and wait by the door. We knew from Lucius' decision to have me escort him that he wasn't as fond of her, but we figured that some of her habits wouldn't be bad to remember. When he came through the door I asked if I could take his coat and he said I'd do no such thing.

"So, you're not getting to leave the castle for the holidays," he began as we climbed the first of many flights of stairs. "I believe that is where we left off?"

"It is," I agreed.

"Ah, yes." He stared onward for a short while, contemplating something. "I do believe I've forgotten your age, young lady."

It took all I had not to snort with amusement. "Young lady" is not a title I could be described with. Still I kept the conversation formal. "That must be because you've never asked," I said. "I'll be eighteen in January. January third."

"Ah, I see. My son turned twenty last June," he informed me needlessly. "You know—" He stopped and turned me towards him. "—I'm quite sure the two of you would get along quite well." I would have been able to see where this conversation was going even if I hadn't been orchestrating it. But I tried my best to seem intrigued.

"Really?" I said, turning back on course and urging my guest forward, though I stole many more looks in his direction than I had before. "And this son of yours… does he have a name?"

"Draco, Draco Lucius," he replied.

"Draco… like the constellation?" I hope that I sounded excited about this connection to the stars, because, really, I thought that having a name like "Draco" was rather foolish.

I must have acted well because Lucius' next comment came off with an air of pride. "Yes, he was named after it. People in the higher class families are often named for stars and constellations." By "higher class" he meant purebloods.

"That is really cool." I kept myself from lying outright by saying this with a sarcastic expression. Thankfully, he hadn't been looking my way when I said it.

Constellations have weird names. I pity anyone who has to live with a name like "Sirius". However, it seemed as though mocking their family values wouldn't help these people to like me.

"I'm glad you think so," he said. Then his voice became a little detached, as it would after heaving a long sigh. "I have been thinking that Draco's been quite lonely lately. I'm proud of him for joining our cause at such a young age, and I know he's honored, but I get the feeling he'd rather be around people his own age…"

I knew what he was thinking. I just needed him to say it before we got to the Headmaster's office. We were close now, just at the end of the hall. I couldn't think of anything that would cause him to suggest it that wouldn't sound suspicious. He had to come to the decision on his own, but he had to come to it soon. I started silently willing him to get his head out of the clouds and come back to our conversation. But that wasn't going to happen. While I was holding the door open for him Snape came over and told me to return to my common room.

"We'll be working late tonight. It'd be awful if you were to lose sleep just to guide Mr. Malfoy down a path he knows well." I tried insisting that I didn't need the sleep, that it was a Saturday tomorrow, but had to give up because I was acting out of character. They closed the door behind me and I walked back to my common room in defeat. Some people were crushed by the news. Others insisted that I could escort him again the following week. I didn't feel like contributing to the conversation, so, though I was placed nearest the orb, all I did was comb the kinks out of my hair with my fingers. I got up and went to bed early without a word. I put my pyjamas on (I did use them in the winter) and rolled over without drawing the curtain. Sleep was upon me almost immediately. I wasn't sure if I was pleased or upset with the turn of events, but I did know that I didn't care to think about it at the moment.

The sleep was peaceful. The wakefulness was alarming. All my things were gone, save for a day's worth of clothing laid out at the foot of my bed. I rolled over on top of them and looked over the footboard. Sure enough, someone had taken my trunk. I neglected my clothes and headed down to the common room in my pyjamas. When I got there I saw one man standing beside my trunk and another examining the D.A.'s communication orb. Lucius. He wasn't suspicious about the object. After all we'd made it look like a decorative piece above the fireplace. He was just looking at it. After neither man seemed to notice my appearance I decided to speak what was on my mind.

"Why do you have my trunk?" There was nothing polite or formal or even intelligent about the way I'd said this. I was still hardly awake and had left my act upstairs.

Lucius put down the orb and looked at me with a false surprise. "Didn't one of your little friends tell you?" he asked. "I'm taking you to see the country."


	9. The Malfoys

There's a certain sense of intrusion when you enter someone's home through the fireplace. They don't know you're coming, you're arriving unannounced, and I know that I would have found it extremely unsettling to see my fireplace suddenly come to life with a green blaze. I guess I'm the only one who's that strongly against the Floo Netwrok, though. Surprisingly, however, the sensation of being burned wasn't as bad as I thought. Mind you, I would still have reservations about entering an orange fire.

Earlier on I'd asked Lucius Malfoy about his abruptness in inviting me to his home. For the sake of the rebellion I'd hoped it would be so but I'd never thought I'd be arriving quite as early as I did. "It's only the ninth," I'd protested, still rather droopy from the early hour. "I'll miss a bunch of my classes." To this he assured me that there were people at their mansion who could help me keep up. "Besides, a young person like you doesn't actually need their seventh year. Draco didn't finished his, either." His implication that I wasn't even going to finish my seventh year was irritating, like he was calling me stupid or something, but I went along with it anyway. If I rejected the invitation now it may not be offered again. And, more selfishly, I hated being in this prison. I do wish I'd gotten to say goodbye to some people though… but what was I thinking? I wasn't planning to die there. Besides, we'd all planned this together, surely they'd know where I'd gone when they found I'd disappeared.

Thus I was going to have breakfast with the Malfoys that crisp Saturday morning. I rode (took? Flew? Flooed? I've never learned the proper verb for this) the Floo Network and arrived in a large room with dull purple walls and the intricate grey carpet that was laden with a layer of dust almost as thick as the snow on the ground. The dust stirred as I tread ashes across it in an attempt to scurry out of the way of the person following me. The fireplace that I stepped out of was of a light colored stone with some rather creepy looking portraits above them. The subjects of the portraits didn't look particularly dreary, it was more the greyness of the lighting and their surroundings that made them look so sad. I tried to look as pleased with the new setting as I could because I'd hardly been a minute looking it over when Lucius stepped out onto the hearth.

"Like it?" he asked.

"Charming," I replied. I felt like my answer was unconvincing but if he'd noticed he didn't care. He smiled pleasingly at first, then suddenly appeared rather uncomfortable and turned away for a moment, as though the room had put him as ill at ease as it had done to me. I decided I must have misinterpreted the signs. Why would anyone feel so out of place in their own house?

Any signs of a frown quickly faded as a middle aged and fair haired woman entered the room. "Ah, Narcissa!" he exclaimed, on his walk over to meet her. "Narcissa, this is our new house guest, Audrey Chisholm. Ms. Chisholm, this is my wife, Narcissa Malfoy."

She extended her hand with a courteous "Nice to meet you" and I tried to look like I felt the same way. Lucius left to tend to some business after determining that his wife and I got along and Narcissa took me to the guest room, or one of what must be many guest rooms in a house like this. There was what she called "a small bathroom" through a door at the back of my room. I would have described it more as a spa. Whatever it was, she insisted that I have a bath and put on clean clothes while she prepared breakfast. I wanted to protest changing out of my perfectly clean clothes but didn't feel it was important enough to fuss over, so I stripped down and settled into the water.

No sooner had I dried off and redressed was there a knock at the door. I jumped across the cold hardwood floor, sockless, to turn the ornate knob. "Yeah?" I said as though this was my own home.

There was a man standing in the doorway. He wore a black suit and had white hair that had been combed back, but was fighting its way forward again like he'd lost interest in combing it halfway through… No, more like he was too exhausted to finish it. The word described the whole person perfectly. Exhausted. His eyes were tired, his posture was tired, his clothing was tired. When he spoke it was with a soft caution. "Mother wants me to bring you to the dining room now."

I stared for a moment, feeling bad for him for some reason, then shook the feeling and reminded myself not to judge a person on how they look, especially in the morning. "Let me get my socks on." I turned to go sit on my bed, trying not to whip too many things with the water dripping off of my hair. While I dug in my trunk for a pair of clean socks, then sat up to put them on, I noticed that Draco was still looking at me. Not actually staring, just looking without focusing. It made me uncomfortable and I started making awkward faces at him. I had my socks on before he clued in and looked away. He didn't really look at me the whole way to the dining room. He didn't talk to me either. He just walked onward with his hands in the pockets of his jacket and his head down. I tried once or twice to think of something to induce small talk, but nothing sounded like it would be enjoyable to talk about so we just walked along in silence.

The dining area was large and grey and dreary and equally uncomfortable. Narcissa had laden the long dining room table with what any normal person would have called a feast, but there was only the four of us eating. There were two dark grey chairs on either side of the table, directly next to each other, leaving the remaining length of the table empty. Of course Narcissa and Lucius were already standing behind their seats in wait for us on the far side of the table. Draco and I were made to sit beside each other because, no matter what tale of their own hospitality Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were telling, I was only here to keep their son company. And that didn't bother me. I wasn't too thrilled about having to spend my days with this sad looking little man, but it was good for the mission and I'd get more freedom and privacy here than I ever would in Hogwarts castle.

Dining was not as quiet as I would have liked. Mrs. Malfoy persisted to asking me questions about my early life, living in America, my parents, and my hobbies. I tried to answer as honestly as possible because of my poor lying skills, misleading her when I thought it would be dangerous to be full truthful. When she asked me about the sports I play I described Quodpot and why it's more popular than Quidditch in America, and mentioned that from my experience I did like it better than Quidditch. She seemed interested in my experiences with Quidditch, but less so interested in talking to me about it as she was in getting her son to ask the questions. "How fascinating that you were on the Quidditch team this year. Draco made it onto the team in his second year. Draco, do you want to talk about Quidditch with Audrey?"

He didn't look like he wanted to talk to me at all. He looked quite a bit like a scared puppy with his shoulders slouched to hide himself from me, but at his mother's request he looked me over for a moment as if deciding whether or not I might bite him. After a while he asked, "What position did you play?"

"Chaser," I answered with a glance in his direction. "You?"

"Seeker," he replied timidly. At that he looked away from me, back to his breakfast, and did everything to avoid eye contact for the rest of the meal. We did keep up a conversation about Quidditch, though. Even in his dazed state you could tell he liked the game. I mentioned that Quidditch was being ban at school now, but neglected the fact that it was because the Slytherin Seeker got killed.

"That's too bad," he muttered. "It was always nice having something to look forward to. Something fun, I mean."

"If you look at it that way, losing Quidditch wasn't such a tragedy." He glanced back at me for a minute, rather confused. "It wasn't that fun," I elaborated, but it was clearly unsatisfactory. I sighed. "None of the other House teams could play. It's not that fun when there's no challenge." Lucius and Narcissa looked a little worried when I said this. I couldn't really figure out why, but all thoughts on the matter seemed to be lost to them after their son's next comment.

"Gryffindor could play, when I was there," he said to his bacon. "Their Seeker was unstoppable. He was the first wizard in a hundred years to get on the team in his first year. He was…"

And I never found out what else he was. Draco's voice faded to silence when he made contact with his father's eyes. He looked critical, threatening. He was warning his son to shut his mouth, but there was a part of his face that was more nervous, begging him to silence out of concern. The two of them looked at each other for a moment, not really knowing what to do. Narcissa, who'd looked equally alarmed when Draco mentioned the Gryffindor Seeker, was the one who offered them an escape.

"Now that that's done; Draco, why don't you show Ms. Chisholm around?" It wasn't a suggestion, it was a command. I tried silently protesting by ignoring her as long as I could and continuing to eat, but my hosts were already rising and Narcissa was filling a tray with dirty dishes. By the time she reached for my half-full plate I'd given up and risen with a look of sarcastic pleasure. Lucius left as soon as he'd risen, and Narcissa was gone as soon as she had a tray full of dishes, leaving me and Draco alone to look at each other uncomfortably. Or not. He seemed shy, almost scared of me. Well, scared of everything was more likely. He was the type of person who'd jump at the sight of his own shadow. Whatever the reason, he didn't look at me. He had such an anxious air, like he was an intruder in his own home. It was quite uneasy just standing there looking at anything but the other person in the room, so I suggested we do the first thing that came to my mind.

"Why don't you show me around? I'm sure I'll get lost in here if you don't." He looked toward me for a minute and made a strange humming noise that might've been an attempt at a laugh, then looked away, seeming a little embarrassed, and nodded. He held the door open for me to pass, then I waited in the hall for him to pass me. I walked a pace behind him as he gave me fleeting explanation about each room's function. "Drawing room—lounge—second dining room—bedroom—bedroom—bedroom—study—bedroom…" And so on. Everything was grey. Not just in color, but in mood. It was dismal and sad. The layer of dust revived the thoughts that I'd had about Draco's hair; like someone had started cleaning and became too tired before the job was done. One does not usually think that such a rich home could be so dirty. I could only assume there's been something more important on their minds.

All this time I was on the lookout for a good point to interject my questions about his time at Hogwarts. It shouldn't have been that hard. School and work are normally such easy things to talk about when you meet someone new, but when neither party actually wants to engage in conversation even that becomes hard to talk about. The silence did give me lots of time to think about how to get onto the subject of his classmate, Harry Potter, when we finally did get to converse. Chances were that I'd have to break character and become more talkative if I ever wanted to get any information, but it was a risk I'd have to take. I decided to bring up the Gryffindor Seeker again. Not immediately, though, I'd start talking about Quidditch first. That seemed to be an interest we had in common and would be easiest to discuss. By asking about the Seeker I could start asking about other students he knew.

Soon the Gryffindor Seeker was out of my mind, for an event more upsetting had come into it. He and I were just coming out of a room while Narcissa was coming up the stairs opposite us. We stopped in the doorway to let her pass us by, but Narcissa just stopped and looked at us cheekily. I could only look back at her in confusion until I noticed she wasn't looking _at _us, she was looking _above_ us. Almost simultaneously Draco and I looked up. Hanging from the door frame was a small cluster of white berries and leaves. I squinted at it for a minute, trying to put my finger on the name of the strange plant, when Draco pressed his lips onto mine. I was fully prepared to slug him, and he seemed to know it because he backed away. But then I realized he wasn't backing off because of threat, he was backing off out of embarrassment. His face was pink and his restless eyes were staring at his feet, arms crossed over his chest. Now I was really confused. A man I'd just met kissed me in front of his mother and now looked ashamed of it. I turned my angry face on Narcissa, but she didn't help. She just looked at us, seeming pleased with herself. She gave us one more smile and suggested that we take ourselves to the lounge to socialize. She'd hardly finished when Draco put his hands in his pockets and headed obediently down the stairs at a brisk pace, almost like he was running away from me. I could think of nothing to do but follow.

After marching myself through the door of the lounge I slammed it shut behind me and addressed the back of Draco's head. "What the _hell_ was that?" I demand. He ignored me and shuffled to an armchair by the fireplace. I lost all thought of manners as I stormed over to him and stood between him and the fire, my eye boring right into him. "Hey, brain dead, I'm talking to you."

We made eye contact for the first time in hours. He stared at me with timid eyes, making the brazen statement that followed come as an even greater shock. "You're smart enough," he said. "Figure it out." No one would have believed he could say such a thing from the way he looked wearily at the fire before and after he spoke. None the less, he said it. And, as offended as I was, there wasn't much else I could do but "figure it out".

I sat down on the far end of the couch and stared straight ahead, arms folded in displeasure. I thought about what had happened and what had lead up to that happening. Draco kissed me after his mother instructed him to tour me around the house. She'd instructed him to tour me around the house because I was going to be their guest, and I was going to be their guest because Lucius asked me to be. Lucius asked me to be their guest because I wanted to infiltrate their house to get information. No, that's the reason I made him invite. Why had he done so? And why was he so enthusiastic about it? It was all too sudden. They must have been thinking about something I hadn't noticed. Somehow everything that had happened today was connected and I was missing the hints. Or maybe I was just over thinking things. Or maybe…

I shot up and strode over to Draco, standing in front of him in the same way I had before but, this time, with a look of apprehension. "Are your parents trying to hook us up?" This time, when he looked back at me, he looked confused, like I'd just spoken a different language. I stared back expectantly, waiting for him to recover from this spell of stupidity, when I realized I might have actually been speaking a different language. Brits use different phrases than American, and wizards use different phrases than muggles. There was no reason why he should know what a "hook up" meant.

I was trying to put my finger on the definition of the phrase myself when he seemed to lose interest and looked away. "They want me to have a girl around, if that's what you meant."

"Does this happen a lot?" The way he'd said this and the way he'd instantly known what his parents were trying to do suggested that it had.

"No," he replied. "But they haven't been subtle. Mother seemed to be asking me a lot of questions about what kind of girls I like, and father would tell me about the girl who usually shows him around the school—"

"Eleanora," I said. He looked at me strangely and I justified my interruption by mentioning we shared a dorm. He nodded.

"Anyway. He started talking about you a couple days ago. He was basically asking me if you were the kind of girl I would like to… to see more of. I told him you sounded interesting just to get him off my back… no offense… Then all of a sudden they tell me they've brought you over to keep me company." His face was riddled with anxiety and confusion. He was trying to apologize to me and understand his parents and sift through his own feelings on the event all at once.

Meanwhile, my brain had made an important connection. This was my key to his trust, what Scarlett had called "leverage". A smirk plastered itself across my face and I sat myself down on the arm of his chair. My arms draped around his shoulders and I leaned on his body with my mouth brushing against his ear. Anyone thinking that I was trying to get to him by acting slatternly is wrong, but you aren't the only one to have thought that. Draco was thinking the same thing. No, that would have been cheap and ineffective. The sudden sexiness was more for amusement than any sort of gain. I whispered in his ear, softly and seductively, "Then why don't we throw them a bone?" then leaned back to see the reaction.

It was well worth it.

He'd become more and more stiff since I sat down on the arm of his chair. After I whispered in his ear he shot up out of his seat to put as much distance between us as he could, but not before he gave me a look of what could only be described as sheer terror. It was so hilarious to see that I collapsed into the chair laughing. "You should've seen your face!" I roared.

When the giggle fits had cooled down enough that I could look at him again he was staring down on me with a face that combined confusion and offence that made him appear truly dumb. I calmed myself down and swung my legs around until I was sitting up in the chair facing him. I spoke seriously, but I could still hear the laughter in the undertones of my voice. "Look, obviously your parents think they can make us a couple. And from the way your mom's been acting they're going to insist that it happens and insist it happens fast. Your mom didn't leave us alone in the hall until she got results. So, we give your parents results and we're free to spend our Christmases away from each other." His face was still blank. Either he didn't understand or he was still in shock from my sudden behavior. I ended up paraphrasing either way; "We pretend to be into each other around your parents so they leave us alone and we have more time to do what we want." He gave a quiet "Ah" and his eyes darted away as though he still didn't get the point. I sighed as I rose. "Look, I don't like you. I don't really wanna be around you. I only agreed to come here to get out of that prison of a school. And I am not going to spend my Christmas vacation with your parents pressuring me into making out with you." At his raised eyebrows I specified, "Kissing."

"Oh," he whispered then looked away for a minute to consider the offer. Without looking back at me he asked, "Did you ever think I might actually like you?"

"I know you don't," I said. "You said so. "I sounded interesting to get your parents off your back"."

He seemed to be trying to think of another excuse to reject my offer. Unable to find one he said, "Okay."

I smiled triumphantly and threw myself down on the couch, kicking my shoes off and putting my feet up all in one motion. Then I relaxed into the couch, proud of myself for initiating this new development. I volunteered for this assignment because I honestly did want to get out of the castle. I hadn't wanted to fake any sort of relationship with Draco, and this was going to allow me to get closer to him without actually having to be his friend. After all, what brings people together greater than conspiracy? Working against his parents was going to be the perfect opportunity to earn his trust, and I wouldn't have to do that much lying, either.

The remainder of the day was uneventful. I was allowed borrow books from the library, much of which were of a similar nature as those at the Hogwarts library, and spend time in the study. Some people who weren't significant enough to name would come around now and again to help me with my work. Those classes were harder than the ones at Hogwarts because it was much easier to notice if I dozed off when we were one on one. No matter what I was doing Draco's parents made sure he was never far away. He'd always be assigned a chore or a task in the room next to mine and relieved of it in time to show me to the dining room or my bedroom or somewhere else. I admit that I needed the guidance, I wasn't used to navigating such big buildings, but I think I may have preferred to be lost. We pointedly smiled at each other and tried to act a bit brighter when his parents were present. When we were alone we returned to being mutually uninterested in one another. When he held my door open that evening I entered without looking back at him and he left without a word. It was a decent arrangement, in my opinion.

Apparently my pyjamas were "inappropriate for a lady" so I wasn't surprised to find there was a long sleeved violet nightgown at the end of my bed that night. Repulsed, but not surprised. The cloth hanging off my shoulders felt odd, but I admit that feeling the silk bed sheets against my legs was rather nice. The bedding was warm, but not so warm that you start sweating in your sleep. It was perfect, and induced a very comfortable sleep. The kind you wake up feeling genuinely revived from.

I was so at peace when I opened my eyes the next morning that it took me a few seconds to remember to panic when I saw someone standing over me. But when I did remember to panic, _I panicked_. I let out a loud gasp and launched myself across the bed away from the blurry figure. Had it been any smaller I would have tumbled off the other end. I was crouched on the corner of the bed ready to run if I had to (not that it would've been any good, since my ankles were tangled in the bedding) when I heard the other person chuckling.

"What a funny girl you are, Ms. Chisholm."

It was just Narcissa. Still, the custom where it is appropriate to walk into someone's room while their sleeping and just stand over them was foreign to me. She continued chatting as she walked over to the trunk at the end of my bed and pulled out my clothes. I didn't hear what she said, though, over the sound of my mind silently screaming at her to piss off. Nothing left my mouth; I just stared at her with a glare tainted by confusion. This became no longer sufficient when she addressed me directly. I shook myself awake again and slid off the bed. "What?"

"That drunk you lived with in America didn't feel the need to buy you any decent clothes, did he? The only things you own that are worth wearing are part of your school uniform." I didn't feel it necessary to respond to that insult. I slid off the bed and moved closer to see what she was doing. She seemed busy sorting my things into what seemed to be 'keep' and 'go' piles. I felt a little offended that some of the items she was tossing were personal favourites, but now that I was seeing them through her eyes I saw they were quite mugglish. Finally becoming overwhelmed with finding me something decent to wear she said, "You know, I think I have some keep sakes stashed away somewhere. You can wear those for today and I'll go buy you some new clothes this afternoon. Why don't you take a bath while I find you a nice dress?"

_Because I don't want to wear a dress, _is what I thought, but I knew better than to reject her kindness. Bathing so extravagantly two mornings in a row seemed like it'd make me unnecessarily clean, but I couldn't complain. There were soft white towels folded on shelves and a primrose-colored housecoat hanging on the back of the door. I had hardly dried off and tied the belt of the robe when Narcissa invited herself in carrying a garment bag. I stared at her, sensing a breach of privacy, while she hung the bag on the back of the door and chatted away about whatever dead person owned this necklace or that stocking. Putting my hair up in a ponytail without staring at her in irritation proved to be an impossible task and she noticed my alarm.

"I'm so sorry, Miss, it's just nice to have a girl around for a change. I love Draco dearly, truly I do, but if I could've had a daughter, too, it would have been… well, different, you know. But having you stay will be as good as having a daughter of my own I'm sure of it." She said the last line as she turned back to unzip the garment bag and place things on shelves. All I could do was pretend like I did understand while there was something more pressing eating at me.

"As good as having a daughter of my own." This woman didn't think I was leaving.

A false smile quickly formed on my face as she walked towards me with a brush, a chair, and a wand. The chair was placed in front of the mirror for me to sit in to have my hair styled "like a proper woman". This would prove to be the hardest thing I'd done in Britain thus far. I'm very, very particular about my hair. It's not because of the look of it, but because it makes a barrier between me and the people around me. A simple shift of the head and my face becomes completely hidden from ridicule and loathing. I could openly show the way I felt without exposing myself as weak. But with Narcissa pulling and twisting at my every strand it seemed as though I may need to be a little more careful with what I made public through my face.

By the time she'd finished all my hair had been pulled back into a ponytail that was made to look far thicker than it actually was. From my hips there fell a grey pleated skirt that met my black stockings at the knee. The whole ensemble of unbearable itchiness was completed by a navy blazer that I thought may have been literally infused with poison ivy. I let her think I was pleased with her work, while making a mental note to have the attire burned after we defeated the Death Eaters.

She took me down to breakfast that morning, late, making a point of not shutting up. Somehow she always managed to bring the conversation back to Draco. But it seemed as though subconsciously forcing me into loving her son wasn't the only reason he kept coming up. It was really starting to look like that boy was her life.

Breakfast had come and gone and with my new look there came more phony flirting from my partner in crime. Narcissa was doing a poor job of concealing her excitement when instead of walking two paces ahead of me Draco offered his hand on our way outside to walk about. Once we were out of her sight the spark in our eyes died and our hands retreated back to our sides where they stayed, swinging as we walked down the hallway, until we were out in the snow.

Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe it. The hedges lining the driveway were dusted with the perfect amount of cottony snow, not too much, not too little. Underfoot the snow was crunchy, not wet, and farther down the driveway, near the gate, was a shape. I couldn't really tell what it was because it was as white as the snow itself. I started moving towards the thing to decipher it but Draco put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I whipped around to look at him in irritation.

"We're not supposed to go near the gate," he explained. As he spoke he turned around and started walking around to the side of the house. I'd tried to approach the thing (that, from its movement, seemed to be an animal) because I hadn't wanted to ask him. I wasn't interested in talking to him at all, unless I could twist it into a Harry Potter discussion. Now I had to ask.

"What was the animal?"

"Peacock," he answered flatly. I waited for him to elaborate and he waited for me to move on. Eventually we realized the paradox we were in. "Have you ever seen a peacock before?" I shook my head. "It's a bird with a long tail. Blue, normally, but ours are white."

"Ah."

And that was the end of the conversation that morning. We hung around a cute courtyard at the side of the house surrounded by hedges. There were empty patches off the walkway that would have been gardens in spring and the side of the house facing us only had one window that we could see through. The window was significantly smaller than the windows in the front of the house but it was still abnormally large. We spent most of the time sitting on stone benches on opposite sides of the courtyard from one another and looking at the ground, until a green apple landed in the snow beside me.

I was startled, then looked angrily at Draco for scaring me. The only response I got was a shoulder shrug in the direction of the window, which I took as sassiness at first. In a minute I made the connection. There must have been someone looking out the window. But were they still there? Had I missed the chance? I must not have, because he was still looking at me. I shot him a grin, which he returned, then leaned over to pick up the apple and threw it as hard as I could. I was sure I could act like I had misjudged the distance when he missed the catch. Unfortunately for the sadist in me he caught it perfectly. The surprise must have shown on my face for he smiled tauntingly. It was awful.

My goal from then on was to make him miss, maybe even fall off the bench trying to catch it, but he caught every wild throw I tried. With all thoughts of subtly out of my mind I let it fly far above his head. To my surprise and annoyance, he stood up on the bench and jumped for it. Luckily he managed slip on his way down. He recovered quickly and his throws started getting hard enough that I was brought to my feet trying to receive them. We'd stumble into bushes and slip on patches of ice, but the apple didn't touch the ground once since I first tossed it. At around noon he caught the apple and, instead of throwing it back, took a bite out of it. Our little game was over, and we were to head back to the dining room for lunch.

That afternoon we were sent to Draco's room. It seemed a little awkward, but then Narcissa mentioned that there were other guests in the house. We were just being kept out of the way. Upstairs in our temporary hideout he took a seat on the edge of the bed and I searched the room for another seating option. But then I thought this might be a good chance to get some information from him and set myself down beside him. I was getting nowhere by being silent, so I figured that eventually I was going to have to start a conversation. The only thing I could think of to say that would sound natural was, "You're a good catch."

"You too," he told me.

"You were a Seeker, right?" He nodded. I stared at my feet again and thought back to my Quidditch experience in search of something that could help me make this a more rewarding conversation. But, for some reason, Aster became trapped in my forethoughts.

It was like I was seeing his life, as I knew it, going backwards. It started with a vivid image of how he died, to the way he'd played during his last game, to seeing him in the prep room, to the way he performed in practice. As the only girl on the team I was the one that everyone had wanted to tease but, after they learned what an attitude I had, they went back to tormenting our little Seeker. Being to youngest and the smallest he was the easiest target. It was all fun and games, and he took it that way. Alwyn, Neil, and I made sure he knew what a bad catch he was. He was great at what he did, but when we would throw the Quaffle to him he was almost guaranteed to drop it. With nothing else to say I said what was on my mind. "Our Seeker couldn't catch to save his life."

Draco chuckled a bit. "Quidditch isn't as challenging now as it used to be."

"So I've heard," I replied. "Were the Gryffindors really that good? They're the worst team at the school now."

That seemed to amuse him more than the thought of a Seeker who couldn't catch. "Of course they're awful. They're the Gryffindors, nobody likes them. Not now, at least."

"What do you mean by "not now"?"

He snorted as if I should have already known. "Gryffindor used to be the House everyone wanted to be in. The teachers favored them, _especially_ the Headmaster. It was us that they hated. The Slytherins, I mean."

"Why would they hate us?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't they?" he responded. His head turned in my direction and looked at me kind of sadly. "We're the dark wizards, aren't we?"

I couldn't argue with that. It made a lot of sense, considering what the Sorting Hat had told me at the beginning of the year. "Matches with them must have been competitive." I said it like this because I wanted the conversation to seem like it was about Quidditch as long as I could. If I started asking about Potter directly this soon it would seem fishy.

"Yeah," he said. "They were brutal. We didn't win once," he sighed.

"They were just too good?" I asked, the remembered to add, "Or was it just that "unstoppable" Seeker you mentioned?"

"No, the Gryffindors were good, but I meant what I said about their Seeker." Clearly he had more to say, but he was holding his tongue.

At this point it seemed appropriate to ask about the censorship of the Gryffindor Seeker. "Why didn't your parents let you talk about him?"

He hesitated on this, nervously questioning the safety of answering me. Finally he said, in a hushed voice, "No one can talk about him anymore."

"Why? What's so special about a boarding school Quidditch player?" I asked, not knowing that this would throw me head first into everything I came here for.

Draco was on the verge of panic as he tried to answer the question in an expectable way, but he never got passed the words "He was", and even tried to discourage me from wanting to know or tried changing the subject. I only gave him determined, genuinely innocent looks. And I say "genuinely" because I really didn't know what kind of information I was prying out of him. At last he took a deep breath and said in such a small and shaking voice that I could hardly make out the words.

"Harry Potter."

I couldn't believe it. I tried to clarify, "Did you say—?" but he cut me off, nodding vigorously. If I had to ask I already knew. All I did for the next moment was watch Draco try to contain himself. He was terrified that someone would hear him say that name. Bad things always happened to people who said that name.

Every word that came out of my mouth from then on had to be carefully planned and moulded to perfection. There was no room for error in my tone, my language, my eyes. I decided the best thing to do was to come back to the game of Quidditch again. "How did he play?" I asked. Draco just gave me a confused glance, so I elaborated. "How did he get to play Quidditch when the Death Eaters were in charge of the school?"

Draco just started shaking his head. "He wasn't there."

"Where was he?" It was a risk, but one I was ready to take. If it failed I could recover if I had to. If it was successful I could get a lot of good information.

Now Draco was looking straight into my eyes, his body shivering, and if a pin had dropped at that moment the sound would have drowned out his voice. "He was trying to kill him. He was trying to kill our Lord."

This was amazing. I never thought I'd get so much information so soon. I had to dig my nails into the palms of my hands to keep myself from shaking with excitement. My chest rose and fell with the deep breaths that I was taking to keep my voice steady as I asked the question that every person who'd heard of the new Dumbledore's Army had asked. "So… So he can be killed?"

It seemed like too much to ask this suddenly. Draco obviously thought the same thing, because when he looked at me his eyes were wide and his jaw was dropped. He stuttered with an answer for a moment and lost it, swallowed, tried again, then stood up and started pacing anxiously around the room. By now he wasn't shivering, he was shaking. Every once in a while his mouth would start flapping open and shut as he attempted to say something, whether it was an answer or an accusation, but he never got it out. He probably covered every inch of the room by the time he stopped by the door to listen. From the behavior he was displaying I had thought he was crazy, thus the listening just seemed like another symptom of his insanity. Just as much as what came of the listening.

Once he was done listening to a seemingly imaginary sound he turned around suddenly and briskly strode back to the bedside, where he started kissing me without explanation again. I was going to kill him when the door opened and Draco backed off, but not before our visitor had seen.

"Sorry," he muttered, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "He's requested your presence, Master Malfoy," the man said curtly.

Draco slid off the bed and stood up, which satisfied the messenger that his duty was fulfilled and he turned to go, though he sent back a critical glare when he saw Draco leaning in towards me again. His lips brushed mine as he whispered, "Sorry." Then he was gone and had shut the door behind himself. I took this as a hint not to follow.

I sat on the edge of the bed twiddling my thumbs for a while and trying to find something to do. Observing the room proved unamusing, for it was hardly different from the one I slept in. Dull, grey, and sad. After I'd been alone for about an hour I decided to take another bath. Maybe I would actually turn into a prune this time.

I'm sure I wasn't bathed in my earlier life nearly as well as I had been in that last few days. I couldn't complain, though, being unusually clean was a fair price to pay for such a relaxing bath. The bathroom here had the same huge porcelain tub that was off my room. They were so big that you could lie down straight as a board with the tub only half full and still be completely covered in water.

Unfortunately, this was the day that I learn seeing how long you can hold your breath while in a bathtub, no matter how large, is a bad idea. I was trying to push my limit of one minute and forty nine seconds up to two minutes even and ran out of air rather abruptly at one fifty five. I burst out of the water, flailing wildly, and hit my shin on the tap, slashing it open. I gaped at the blood dripping down into the soapy water for a moment before I finally figured I ought to treat it somehow.

As you might remember from previous chapters I am a terrible medic. My plan of action for tackling this injury was limited to rinsing it out and finding a band-aid. Once I remembered that band-aids were a muggle product my plan was reduced to just rinsing it out. Towel-clad I started opening drawers and cupboards to find nothing that I recognized as being useful. I didn't dare try any sort of magic on myself. It finally came down to finding help. I dried off and put my wet hair up in a sloppy bun, then started pulling clothes back over my body. I chose to disregard many items, deciding only to wear what would grant me the most decency with the least itchiness. After about five minutes of dressing I hobbled out of the room, barefoot with the grey skirt and white undershirt on my back and a bloody towel held to my leg.

It's very difficult to navigate a strange house when you have to hold a towel to your leg. Your head is down most of the time and things look quite different upside down. I had to shuffle along inverted, leaving a bread crumb trail of water droplets and the occasion dab of blood behind me.

For a house supposedly full of guests the mansion was rather vacant. Every door I fell through lead to an empty room, and the only sounds I could hear were made by my own bare feet hitting the cold floor. At last there were voices coming from the drawing room through which I'd entered this house. I shuffled over as quickly as I could, knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a reply. "Hey, where on earth do you people keep bandages?"

Silence. Everyone in the room turned to stare at me.

The first thing I noticed was there was now a table running through the room lined with black cloaked figures. The second thing I noticed was Draco, sitting there uneasily while a blush of embarrassment crept onto his face. My habit of making people more uncomfortable than they already are kicked in and I stood up straight to address him with the bloody towel in my fist. "Hey, I'm bleeding over here, you gonna help me out or not?"

His eyes flickered towards me for a second then back down to his lap. Slowly, he brought his gaze up to look nervously at the head of the table, wavering on a spot on the wood work before moving up to look the person in the eye.

"Draco," said a voice that was eerily kind, "you may be excused to heal her."

I followed Draco's troubled stared to the end of the table and froze.

I was in the presence of Lord Voldemort.


End file.
